You will not pick what you favor. You will be handed what you think. Do you
have a fondness for the colour red? Were you asked? I don’t recall that you were. No
one cares what you wish, what you pick...I will be the one to tell you that. You will be
given the colour black. Its the same as the colour of your deteriorating insides, as the
shade of the dark thoughts in your mind. Red is blood colour. Blood is life. And you are
as good as dead. You will receive what I force upon you and not burden me with what I
do not wish to hear. You will hide your truth in your shades of darkness until you drift
and rot away. Reality is not wanted here...
Reality. (-the quality or fact of being real; the quality of being true to life...)
Realization. Lies. What did you realize? Did you realize that all of the shit that
everyone told you was easy to assume and believe? Did it seem logical? Did it seem
true? Did all of the tiny thoughts you’ve pushed away scream out in protest and agony as
you accepted it for the truth? Do you ever question what those thoughts were? They
were your mind, your thoughts. The thoughts and mind that you forsake for the simple,
comforting form of logic and fact and imposed morals that you were continuously fed.
The logic of their world. You will claim no world for your own. There is no section in
their view that allows such a thing. So you deny. So you hide. You masque your reality
with theirs. You become the conqueror of your own world. The world that forever
refuses to die. There is no denial that could shut it off. No where to hide that could
block it out. No masque which you create for them could hide you from yourself. From
the vast, frighteningly undefined world in which you occupy. Let in their misconceptions
and empty, useless words. Accept their law and their lies in attempt to destroy your
truths. You took in too much without questioning what they were handing you. You’ve
poisoned yourself with it. And now you are puking yourself back up for them. Now a
shell full of other peoples words and standards and thoughts. Only the emotions you
were taught to feel. And the horrible guilt of the things you were told not to think, feel or
live. And the constantly growing resentment inside of you. The merely quieted, but not
destroyed voices inside of you, not letting you forget. Haunting. Forcing you to realize
all of the things you never wanted to. Building and ripping their way back.
Question. (-an asking, inquiry; doubt, uncertainty; to dispute, challenge...)
Do
the doubts get to you? The inquisitive must be destroyed. They are nothing but a danger.
Keep your silence. Isn’t it safer in not knowing. Do you think for the best inside of your
uncertainty? Inside of ignorance. Or do the questions torment you, the unknown
possibilities? The eyes that lay behind your own see the lies molded into the shape of
truths and distributed. Consumed. Taken in by you and all of your plastic companions.
How is it to see them all be drained? Do you despise your weaknesses? Your
weaknesses despise you. Does your inability to think frustrate you? You frustrate your
thoughts. How did it feel in the pit of the question? The one they pushed you into. Did
they remove your hands when you reached out? Did they keep a firm boot upon your
head? Disable your movement. Place the rag into your mouth. Paralyze your mind. For
your own good. For your own safety and well-being. To keep your life in order. In line.
Does it comfort you that they care? That they’ll always be at your side...
Fear. (-anxiety caused by the nearness of danger, evil, pain; respectful dread...)
Remember the last times...everything remained undefined. It eats away at you. The
thoughts waver, step away. Have they gotten into your head? Can they see it in your
expression? In your eyes? Can they smell it on you as you can smell them? The rotting
stench. What do you fear? You’re out of place, how long do you think it will it be
before they notice? Before they bring you back. Continue with the actions. The
processes drilled into you. Admit to their false righteousness. Bow your head to not look
the words into their eyes. Kneel before your weaknesses. Allow them control. Your
conformity shall be rewarded. Kill your pride. Merely take their words, their empty
promises, their demands. Drink it all down. Infect yourself with it. Spread out their shit
like a new plague that’s been around forever. Revolve. The cycle never ending. Never
allowing a break in the circle. An escape. Trapped within this darkened box. Six even
sides, each of which portraying a picture. Focus on the pictures and you won’t have to
wonder(wander). You won’t have to think about or see what is in the darkness within the
center. The center where you stand. Turn any way you like. Any way that they turn you.
You will always have a image placed before you. A distraction. A deterrent from the
darkness that surrounds you. You’ve pulled your concentration from the images. Now a
new set of pictures is revealed, a new set of answers. Everything you pushed and locked
away into the darkest parts of yourself. Rushing forward. Colliding. Reclaiming their
losses...
Insanity. (-derangement, unsoundness of mind; makes incapable of what is
regarded as normal, rational conduct...)
Where do you place the things that need time to
build? Where do you let your hatreds grow? Your parasites. Consuming their host from
the inside. Breaking apart. Peek through the slit. Take a look through the cracks in the
walls. Fall within. Acceptance. Kill your fears. They were to be your destroying force.
Ongoing screams. Death resides in every inch of this empty masque of skin. Flesh with
no purpose but to feed the inmates of it’s own tainted hell. Fragments. Hoard of broken
dreams. Dying illusions of hope. Drifting memories. Insights of real. Thickened air.
Thickened enough to sustain the floating images. The images that pass through on their
turn as always. Blood-laced thoughts as companions. Spilling. Pick it all apart.
Dissolve back in. Ridicule. Banishment. Is it a comfort? Colors of true emotion and
thought. Understanding with painful perception. Breaking through the empty shell
surface. Shattering. Reforming.
Hatred. (-strong dislike or ill will; hate...)
The last tear falls, and soon is
overcome. Forgotten by fury. Repentance brings nothing but a viewing of your
weakness. Weakness that now partakes in a sudden execution of itself. What have you
to beg of them for? Would you wish for more from them? You were once a piece in
their empty world. A disregarded slave to their world. Forgotten. But you can never
forget. And they shall never breach your world. Attempts shall be met with an
ever-growing rage. Met with teeth bared, sharpened with time. Talon-like claws
outstretched. And with eyes that no longer give off an illusion of life. That have become
the death. The emptiness. Devoured by hate. A world ruled by fury...
Vengeance. (-the return of an injury for an injury, in punishment or retribution;
avenging of an injury or offense...)
By: Kelly Turner
Copyright 1996
This story is not yet titled and will not be fully completed until I get my vengeance. Be patient, it will come.
If you were actually ambitious enough to read this, email me and tell me what you think...
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