So, I've written quite a few stories. Figure I'll make one thread to house them all. Post a nice little directory when I'm done posting them. =3 New: 14-2-09:The Lilies Are Bleeding
Some murderers see their work as an art form. If their piece is a success, they will continue on with their life, outside of jail. However, with the limited capability of understanding humans possess, combined with their narrow mindedness, the true secret of a killer can go entirely missed.
The following is a video log of young man recording his last moments. It spends its time residing quietly residing in a dark, silent evidence room, calling out to whoever may hear its cry. Upon deaf ears will its shrill screams always fall.
The video starts off recording the youth adjusting his camera. His room is entirely dark, not a single spec of light to be found. The camera records in night vision as the man looks directly into the lens and begins speaking.
â??Hello. My name isâ?¦â? The voice pauses for a moment, deciding how he should start off. â??Ugh. No, Iâ??m not beginning it like this. It sounds too much like Iâ??m recording my last words. That isnâ??t what I want this to be. Instead, Iâ??ll just get straight to the explanation. Iâ??ll describe to you the hell that has been nipping at me for god only knows how long now. It started the night of my 18th birthday. Januaryâ??s cold held reign over our outside activities. It was just a small party, if you could even call it that. A few presents from my family, cake, the norm. All irrelevant. It was that night, as I was lying in bed, my lights out with my TV providing the only light for the room, that my story begins. My curtains and blinds were closed, which gave the room a nice ominous feel at the time. I liked that sorta thing back then.â?
The man takes a slow breath, looking away from the camera for the first time. His focus returns after a brief moment and once more he begins reciting his story.
â??Right. Back to what I was saying. My TV was in front of me, and the light it gave out cast a shadow on the wall beside me. I was a bit bored, so I decided to entertain myself by interacting with the two dimensional doppelganger of myself. My hand traced along the wall, as if I was playing a game of tag with my shadowâ??s hand, which seemed to be trying to flee from me, going out in front of me. That was the first sign, but I didnâ??t notice it. I shouldâ??ve been more aware.â?
A brief pause accompanied by a stressed exhale and quick inhale. His expressions seemed to show that he was trying to think.
â??After that, Iâ??m sure there were more signs, Iâ??m positive. They were probably just too subtle for me to notice. By the time I did notice something wrong, it might as well have been written in big bold letters in front of me. It was later on in the day, and I was in the kitchen of our house by myself. It was mildly lit. Just enough to see where youâ??re going with out needing the aid of a light. I got some snack out of a cabinet, but knocked over a box onto the ground in the process. No big deal. I bent over to pick it up, and noticed the presence of my shadow. It immediately struck me as awkward. There was no light in here to cast a shadow. I put the box and my snack on a nearby counter without letting my eyes leave my shadow. If they were deceiving me, I wanted to know right away. My interest in the paranormal may have made me a bit paranoid, but I knew that the tenseness I was feeling now wasnâ??t unwarranted. I took a step towards the roomâ??s exit, and of course my shadow mimicked me. I raised my left arm, as if tempting him to continue mirroring what I was doing. He raised his left arm. Then he raised his right arm. Mine was still at my side. My skin crawled like a trillion tiny little bugs were trying to make their way out from under it. Then in one swift movement his hands wrapped around his neck, and I was the one who felt its effects. My throat was pained and my breathing stopped. I struggled frantically, but against what? My attacker was my own shadow. I donâ??t remember what happened after that. Only what I was told by my family when I woke up. My blood was on the corner of one of the cabinet doors I had left open. Apparently I knocked myself good and passed out on the floor. Back then, I was happy to believe thatâ??s what really happened. After all, this kind of stuff only happens in stories.â?
Once more he collects himself from the rough memories with a deep breath of air.
â??After that, I was always suspicious of the me that didnâ??t talk, that didnâ??t have any facial expressions, that would never confess to what he did to me. But what I had thought happened had a perfectly logical explanation. I couldnâ??t doubt it. Instead, I carried on, always holding that distrust in the back of my mind. But he didnâ??t assault me again. Though several times I noticed things that just couldnâ??t have really happened. Iâ??d brush my teeth with my right hand, heâ??d use his left. Iâ??d scratch my back, heâ??d scratch his head. Iâ??m sure he was just taunting me. Probably the same reason he let me live the first time he attacked me. For fun, no doubt.â?
There is a creak off to the manâ??s left, which catches his attention. He stares at the origin of the sound intently for a moment before returning to his monologue.
â??The next attackâ?¦ Iâ??m betting this one was planned to finish me off. Once again I was in the kitchen, home alone for the time. I had an apple on a plate, and I grabbed a steak knife from its group. Not entirely necessary for cutting an apple, but it was in easy reach. Only half way through grabbing the knife did I realize that when I had it, so did my shadow, my enemy. Stunned by my lack of thinking, I dropped the knife. As I feared, my shadow did not repeat this action. If he had a face, Iâ??m sure it would have been filled by a crooked and malevolent smile. I whispered â??No.â? as best as I could. My voice was barely more than a whisper but I doubt it made any bit of a difference. My silhouette raised the knife, and then brought it down in one swift, uncaring motion. The result was a jet of blood from my arm and a surge of pain that reverberated several times through out my body. But on instinct I turned around and ran. I didnâ??t know where, and I didnâ??t know why. I couldnâ??t out run him. Another stab. This one brought me to my knees. The nearest room was the bathroom. I dragged myself across the carpet, slowly into the room, and shut the door behind me. There was no window to the outside, which made the room completely dark. I waited for him to return, I was expecting to be ended by something that was essentially me. Hours went by and nothing happened. Thatâ??s when I learned how to defeat him. He canâ??t exist in total darkness. He becomes nothing.â?
The young man looked around his surroundings, devoid of any light, and then back to the camera.
â??And thatâ??s why Iâ??m here now. I couldnâ??t do this at home. If I tried to explain, I wouldâ??ve been sent out to an asylum. I had to run away. I suppose he let me get this far as a sort of show sportsmanship. Twisted. Doesnâ??t matter, really. So long as Iâ??m in this chamber of darkness, Iâ??m safe. Thatâ??s all that matters for now. Although I canâ??t help but wonder how long Iâ??ll be trapped in here. What do I do when I run out of food? What do I do-â??
The sound of cars pulling up and parking outside stop the young man midsentence.
â??Taylor? Taylor are you in there? Please, Taylor, say something!â? A voice yelled just outside the door, and the young manâ??s previous moderately calm demeanor has changed to one of panic.
â??Go away! Just go! I donâ??t want you here, go away damn it!â? He screamed back. His voice was so angered that the woman on the other side was silent for a minute.
â??Taylor, weâ??re coming in honey. Itâ??s for your own good.â?
There was a smash against the door. Then another, followed by a soft spoken â??Noâ?¦â? from the young man. The third crash brought the door down with a tremendous thud. Light from outside flooded the room, and almost immediately the man was knocked to the ground by some invisible force. In the struggle, the camera is tipped backwards and only records the sounds of Taylor struggling for breath as his mother and the accompanying police officer try to help him in some manner, without avail.
These fucking spidersâ?¦ I have no idea where theyâ??re coming from. Admittedly, Iâ??m not the cleanliest person around, but for a bachelor living in a small place by himself, itâ??s not that bad.
I first noticed two of them coming out of a small hole in the wall. Further inspection revealed a problem I never would have predicted. There were so many of them that I nearly shit myself. Of course I called the exterminators. It would be two days before they could get out here. Needless to say, I got a hotel room. When they finally arrived, they failed to identify the types of spiders I had. Didnâ??t matter. The poison they sprayed was a one size fits all for killing those little bastards. Itâ??d take one week for the stuff to dissipate enough for me to return. And when I did, my walls were clean. But really, if thatâ??s where my story ended, it wouldnâ??t be worth telling.
I kicked back on my couch to watch TV, my mind not even worried about the spiders any more. Sure as fuck didnâ??t last long. Started with an itch on my arm. I scratched it. Three seconds later it was back, this time with a friend.
Of course it was a spider. I wonâ??t say it as if you didnâ??t see it coming. There were probably ten of â??em on me. The little bastards had made my couch their new home. I managed to drag it outside and to a nearby dumpster, and then ran back to my house. The walls were practically a two-tone mix of paint and spider bodies when I got back. It even looked like the walls were moving.
My next choice was probably a bit rash, but I stand by it. I got what I needed for my final solution. Gasoline. The poison may not have stopped them, but theyâ??ll never survive a burning. There wasnâ??t much more I could do except go to my hotel room and wait for a neighbor to report the fire.
When they were in the walls, I decided to poison them. They moved into my couch. When I took the couch out of the house they wanted to be in so bad, they took over the whole damn place. One last decision. The place went up into a blaze.
So did I get rid of them? Of course not. Did they find a new house? Of course they did. This morning a hatchling burrowed out from my arm. More and more came out over time, not all of them hatchlings. Now what do I do? Perhaps I should get the gasoline for myselfâ?¦
They say being a doctor is one of the best jobs in the world. You get the sense of helping people, yet it still leaves your wallet fat. Being a doctor myself, I wouldnâ??t deny that, however, there are plenty of problems. Itâ??s basically guaranteed that, at some point, youâ??re going to get stuck. With a syringe, that is. You just gotta hope that itâ??s before the damn thing goes into the patient. For me, it didnâ??t even take that much.
Two weeks ago a patient came in with a severely mangled arm. It didnâ??t even look much like an arm anymore. He was still communicative, god only knows how through the kind of pain he mustâ??ve been in, and he said he didnâ??t know what caused this. I know now, but back then it was the first thing Iâ??d ever seen like this.
I only saw him once on his way into the hospital, and only for a brief second as he passed me on his stretcher traveling down the halls. I canâ??t even imagine how scary it was for him. Hospitals even creep me out. I was leaving for the night when he came in, and that was the last Iâ??d seen of him. The other doctors said he was taken to a different hospital. We werenâ??t properly equipped to handle his worsening state.
I suppose it was two days after that that I noticed a scab forming on my leg. I had cut myself the day before, but I remembered that it was the other leg. Confused, I decided to run some blood work on myself. Nothing unusual.
The next day the small scab had almost doubled in size. But it was so small before that it didnâ??t really seem of much consequence. I didnâ??t pay it any mind until day three when it had turned a nasty green color. It was kind of bright even. I had a colleague examine it, but he couldnâ??t provide any more insight than I already had. Some antibiotics to clear up what I assumed was an incoming infection. I went home that day and prepared for the fever that was sure to follow.
However, it didnâ??t. Though I did get a new symptom. A horrible smell coming from my leg, putrid beyond what I could describe to you. Regular antibiotics did nothing. The scab simply increased in size each day, seemingly only while I was asleep. I tried not sleeping, but I passed out after three days and woke up with no idea how long Iâ??d slept. Outside five newspapers had piled up on my doorstep. I couldnâ??t believed Iâ??d slept that long.
The scab now covered my entire leg. My whole house reeked. It wasnâ??t even a typical infectionâ??s smell. I called for an ambulance, and in my wait, it finally started to hurt. It was so sudden. All at once, I was submerged into the pain.
When I got to the hospital, I saw the same doctor that had examined my leg in the earliest part of the infection. He was laying in one of the beds. I guess now he was a patient here. I asked him what was wrong, though my speech was horribly slurred from the mix of insane pain and pain killers.
He said he had a rather large infected scab on his chest. I even noticed the smell coming from him. It wasnâ??t my leg, it was definitely him. It was slightly different than mine.
This seems to be more serious than I had initially thought. Be careful. Examine your scabs carefully. If you find any similarities to me, go to a hospital. Request immediate amputation. If you do so soon enough, you might save yourself quite the hell.
This degree of beautyâ?¦ There's no way it was ever meant to be attained by mortals.
No, surely only a goddess could ever be this exquisite.
But here she sits. Not far away, paying attention so carefully to the teacherâ??s lecture. I canâ??t help but admire even the most simple details of her form. The gorgeous freckles dotting the delicate, lovely pale skin of her face, the way her eyes pay attention to the presentation being given, no matter how excruciatingly monotonous it is. Even her soft, gentle voice echoes of a welcoming and caring nature that I canâ??t help but fall in love with.
Such a woman is not meant for me, this I know. I could never consider myself worth her attention, even for a fleeting moment. Touching her, perhaps even speaking to her, is a sin, the only sin, I could never engage in. At her request, though, I would put myself at her feet unquestioningly. I would happily care for her with unrequited love, just to be in her court.
When sheâ??s near, I have no strength to speak. The confidence I would boast in any other situation is stolen instantly. A glance from her hypnotizing eyes could bring me to my knees. A touch from her hand would leave me mute for a week.
But I must avert my gaze. I must listen to the voice in my pained mind that tells me not to look, not to touch, not to speak.
Because deep down I know, that as I am undeserving, itâ??s better to have a longing heart than a broken heart.
One new piece to my collection. If my count is still accurate, it should be the two hundred fifteenth addition. Finally my table is complete. Sturdy, too, and well balanced. The sirens wailing outside have gotten louder, and I fear I wonâ??t be able to enjoy my new table for long. All this commotion on the TV over a corpse missing a leg.
Finders keepers, losers weepers.
Theyâ??re here now, outside with their guns drawn. Theyâ??re going to take every last piece of my collection and lock it up in some dark, cluttered room. The have no appreciation for my creations.
At least I finished my table.
A work of art.
With such beautiful legs.
Why wonâ??t you look at me? Why wonâ??t you acknowledge me? Why wonâ??t you love me like I love you? I follow you around, but I keep my distance. I know you like your space. I talk to you quietly, but only when you sleep. You deserve your rest. I wear the same style clothes as you; Iâ??ve been in your closet, sometimes watching you, sometimes just to find out what fashions interest you. I know what internet sites you frequent. Why do you think youâ??re reading this? Iâ??ve devoted so much of myself to you, but you just donâ??t care, do you? Am I below you? Do I sicken you? I want you to know that I will have you, one way or another. The only choice in the matter you have is whether or not your body will be decomposing as we lay in bed together. You will love me, even if by then your heart sits in a cold jar on a table in my room. We will be together forever.
What have I lost that can never again be mine? I have lost skin and I have lost blood. I have lost tears and I have lost time. What has been taken away from me that can never be returned? A life, a love, a woman, aâ?¦ Raison dâ??etre.
To find a way to fill an insatiable need, I trust in a blade. Between ribs it searches for the source of the pain. A numb body offers no fight. Tragically departed was my love, stolen from a man who built a world around her.
Slowly comes release as a trembling blade finds its destination. Upon arrival, Iâ??m flooded with warmth. The cowardâ??s way out, many call it. I think of it more as a simple yet eloquent play. The concerto has passed, the music fades. And now I walk a welcoming path into no more.
Today is the happiest day of my life. Angelina was born today, perfectly healthy and happy. I couldnâ??t imagine a more beautiful child. I was in labor for 16 hours, but she was worth every moment. I will do everything in my power to be the perfect mother.
December 23rd
Dear Diary,
Angelina seems to have taken quite a liking to her father. She stops crying almost immediately when he holds her. I envy him. It saddens me to take a back seat, but I will be fine. Iâ??m sure she loves me as much as she loves him. I will be a good mother.
December 25th
Dear Diary,
I was watching the news this morning. There was a stabbing in a nearby town last night. This is such a violent time. I canâ??t believe I chose this time to bring a child into the world, into such a mean, hateful world. I hope Angelina doesnâ??t despise me for it. Does this make me a bad mother?
December 30th
I donâ??t think I can do it. I donâ??t think Iâ??m cut out to be a mother. Last night, Angelina began crying. It was nothing out of the usual, but I found myself so annoyed by her incessant screaming. And thenâ?¦ I couldnâ??t help it. I wish I hadnâ??t thought it, but I did. I thought about leaving her outside for the night. And I even briefly considered it. I actually thought it over. I am a horrible mother.
January 1st
I got drunk last night. I never drink that much. I just couldnâ??t stop. It made it so much easier to deal with. The fact that Angelina doesnâ??t love me. Who can blame her? If she hates me, I deserve it.
January 4th
She hates me. Itâ??s so obvious. The way she looks at me. And as much as I want to love her anyway, I feel that no matter how much I deny it; there is a large part of me that resents her. I deserve to die.
January 6th
I canâ??t deal with it anymore. How can I raise a child who doesnâ??t love me? Iâ??ve been avoiding her as much as I can without being obvious about it. I donâ??t want John to know. How long can this go on?
January 10th
Iâ??ve put an end to it. Iâ??m only human. I can only handle so much. She was horrible to me, even though I gave her everything I could. In the end, though, I know that it was me. My fault. I was never good enough. I never will be good enough.
So I took her out this morning while John was at work. The temperature was just about zero, which made cracking the frozen ground with my shovel so difficult. I took her to the woods. I dug a hole. I put her in it. And thenâ?¦ And thenâ?¦
I buried her. I didnâ??t even have the strength to kill her first. Iâ??m so weak. This is why I couldnâ??t be the mother she deserved.
John will be home soon. He will find me asleep on the couch, with the front door wide open. Some one mustâ??ve kidnapped her. Thatâ??s what Iâ??ll tell them. But for how long will they believe it? Iâ??ll have to hide my diary somewhere.
January 15th
Theyâ??re still looking for her, for the man who took her. They donâ??t knowâ?¦
January 17th
I think I saw her. She was watching me. She hated me. I could feel her hatred. Iâ??m a failure as a mother, this I already know, but I canâ??t be insane as well. She was there. I know she was.
January 18th
Sheâ??s begun carrying a knife around with herâ?¦
January 19th
[This page of the diary is covered in blood. Any words written have become illegible.]
Almost all of us have experienced it at some point or another. That brief sense of uncertainty. You were sure the lights just went out, but it was so swift your mind barely registered it. Yet you canâ??t shake the feeling. Perhaps you just blinked, and noticed it more than usual. Maybe the power surged.
I can tell you that these assumptions are completely wrong. Holding onto them could result in the most dire of punishments. These flickers are preludes to tragedy. Terrors unspoken are trying to break through the wall that separates you, the prey, from their hungry jaws. The binds that restrain them will not hold forever. Each flicker is a crack in the wall.
Eventually, that quick flicker will no longer be but a sputter of the light. You will be permanently cased in the darkness. Waste no breaths screaming, no energy running. The final chime has rung.
As I wade through this lake of maggots and eviscerated corpses, I feel the cold lick of death against my blood soaked skin. Having woken thrice to similar horrors I already know that at my next loss of consciousness I will tread the grounds of another nightmare. But is that really what this is? It feels so real. If I can smell the rot tainting the air, bringing bile to my throat, if I can I feel the chill wind whipping my tired body, if I can taste the blood that has found its way into my mouth, then is it not real? Real is no more than what our mind tells us to believe. If my mind is faulty, then by what means does that make this wretched stage of cruel play unreal? It hurts, real or otherwise.
Iâ??m left to wonder what I did to deserve this. Perhaps I was chosen by some otherworldly force. Maybe I stepped into this reality myself. The answer may elude me until body gives way to inevitability. I did not bring this on myself. As such, I fear I wonâ??t be the last, as surely I am not the first, to suffer this slow, unforgiving diminuendo. So donâ??t waste your prayers on me. I am beyond salvation. Save them for yourself.
Sometimes in life, it is not what we do not know that scares us the most, but rather the confirmation of our worst fears. The terror of knowing what is to come may outweigh the fright of what may be. With that said, I offer you the chance to save your sanity. What will be told herein is the secret to learning of your death. If your mind is frail, if your heart has skipped a beat even at the thought of knowing, please, leave now. I will hold no sorrow, pity, nor guilt if your sanity shatters when visions of your future demise plague your mind. Youâ??ve been warned.
Still here? Good to see youâ??ve steeled yourself. Youâ??re a fool, no doubt, but I couldnâ??t care less why youâ??re still reading. May God have pity on you. Read the following instructions carefully. Do it multiple times if need be. When you have the actions and order memorized, you are ready.
Begin by immersing yourself in darkness. Feel the comfort of its blanket around you. Close your eyes. Relax your body, if you can. You will need to build a mental image in your head. A face whose features seem emaciated; skin pale, as though itâ??s decaying. His lips are tightly bound together by thin steel wire stitching. His gaze is empty and seems to pierce through you, a hundred yards away.
Begin repeating the word â??morteâ? constantly yet slowly in your head. Let it echo through the halls of your mind. Allow your subconscious take over. The face will slowly contort into a macabre smile. As it stretches, it will pull against the stitches keeping them sealed until each suture tears through the lips, leaving a bleeding, wretched grin beaming right at you.
Soon blood will flow out of his mouth at an unreal rate. Donâ??t expect the smile to go away. Eventually he will speak. Be patient, it may take some time. Only one word will be said. â??Morte.â? He will take his time to finish the word. Once it is complete, and only then, may you open your eyes.
Pay careful attention to your body. If you feel nothing, you are a supremely lucky person. You will die of old age. If it is hard to breathe, however, your death will be painful. It is not the worst you can suffer, though. If your skin crawls, if you suddenly feel cold, if a tingle traverses your spineâ?¦ Your death will be of horror indescribable. Slow, excruciating, and torturous. No matter what feeling you experience, however, within the next week, the exact occurrence of your death will visit you in your sleep. The dream will be of hyper-realistic detail, like nothing youâ??ve ever experienced before. You may fall into a coma for a short while, living the dream ad infinitum. But donâ??t worry. You will wake up, if only to suffer the death you envisioned.
She looks so beautiful when she sleeps. Weâ??ve been together for almost three months now and I never get tired of watching her while she slumbers. My beautiful darling Amber. I crawl into bed with her, making an effort not to wake her, but to no avail. She noticed the shift in weight, and groggily turns around to look at me.
My darling seems a bit surprised to see me. Probably because weâ??ve never met face to face before. But Iâ??ve always been around, always been watching her. Sometimes I gently caress her face in the dark night.
She draws back away from me, but I donâ??t mind. She's just sleepy is all, or perhaps a bit confused. I reach forward and grab her firmly by the wrist, making sure she doesnâ??t accidentally fall off the bed. I wouldnâ??t want her getting hurt. I have special plans for tonight.
As I pull her closer to me, I can see sheâ??s about to scream, but I donâ??t mind. She's just sleepy is all, or perhaps a bit confused. â??Shhh!â? I try to tell her, but she wonâ??t listen. I have to muffle her screams, even though I doubt anyone will hear.
I reach over the side of the bed to grab the canister I brought with me. Amber is still struggling, which is making it difficult to uncap the red plastic jug. But I donâ??t mind. She's just sleepy is all, or perhaps a bit confused. When I finally manage to get it open with my free hand, I pour the liquid contents over both our bodies as well as the bed. Amber doesnâ??t like the smell, and itâ??s understandable. Gasoline doesnâ??t have a very pleasant oder.
Next I draw the Zippo from my pocket. Amber accidentally hit me, but I donâ??t mind. She's just sleepy is all, or perhaps a bit confused. I flick at the wheel of my lighter twice before it ignites, and my body trembles in anticipation. My loverâ??s lips quiver a bit, as if to say â??I love you." Tears of joy run down her face.
The lighter drops and the final act of my love begins. Fire dances so playfully on our bodies. Amber is trying to claw her way off of the bed, but I donâ??t mind. She's just sleepy is all, or perhaps a bit confused. I bring her to my chest, embracing her with all the love I have. We share an ardent kiss as the flames roar in a vigorous crescendo. I can feel my skin boiling and popping, tendons and muscles contracting. The play is nearing its end.
I can no longer freely move. Amber and I are cuddled together on the bed. Flames light up the night sky. And our charred bodies will tell the tale of two lovers.
I think it was a week ago. Iâ??m not sure. It could have been a month. Time, to me, has become meaningless. I look at clocks and their numbers signify nothing.
I had my headset for about a half of a year. For whatever reason, though, if I have the volume at max, without any music playing, it emits strange sounds. It never really seemed too out of the ordinary. Some high pitched buzzing, the occasional weird grumble, whatever. I passed it off without much thought. That is, until I was sitting at my desk typing one night, absorbed in my writing. My music stopped playing, and I didnâ??t care to interrupt my work to restart it.
But at once I froze. The hair on my neck jumped to attention. I was racked by cold chills, and I had no explanation for any of it. I just sat there, staring blankly at my screen. Through it, rather. Mindlessly. Iâ??m not sure how long I was in that trance for, but morning hues of light were now streaking in through a near by window.
My hypnotic state was suddenly interrupted by a voice. Not from around me, but from my headphones. It was so low that I felt my head was going to explode. I didnâ??t hear anything again for the longest time, but the pain never stopped. I wanted to leave, to get some rest and chalk this all up to insomnia in the morning, but there was an itch at the back of my aching mind. â??Donâ??t go.â??
And I didnâ??t. I waited and waited for the voice to come once more, as if I was expecting the god damn messiah. It returned eventually, speaking slowly in that same excruciating low tone. After the first few words I could feel blood pouring out of my ears.
I pray that what I heard was nothing more than my imagination. Lies. Whatever. I would give anything to believe it was all a schizophrenic delusion, a chimera of false prophecies and ill grandeur. If notâ?¦
Then Iâ??m glad Iâ??ll be taking my life tonight. What was spoken to me will be taken to my grave. Pick a god and pray to him that Iâ??m just some insane, hallucinating, dead man.
Itâ??s dark all around me. Even though thereâ??s a lamp shining next to me, Iâ??m still suffocating in the complete darkness. Iâ??ve never felt so isolated in my life, yet I knowâ?¦
I know that Iâ??m not alone.
Outside, the sun is high in the sky. Itâ??s taunting me. Mocking me. I see it shining in the heavens, but somehow itâ??s still dark here. I can see so very little, no more than five feet in front of me. Itâ??s as much of a curse as it is a blessing. Lights glow, but donâ??t illuminate anything. I can just barely discern the movement of something traveling on four legs from my peripheral vision.
I donâ??t know where to run. No sense of location is left in me. Iâ??m utterly lost. A feeling of complete helplessness engulfs me. I wish Iâ??d never woken up this wretched morning.
Trapped in oblivion. Itâ??s repeated over and over in my head. I hear claws scrape against the pavement not far away. Iâ??ve been wandering outside for god only knows how long now, practically welcoming my death. My only hope at this point is that whatever is stalking me makes quick work of my demise.
It appears Iâ??ve stumbled into a dead end. Footsteps echo behind me. As I turn around, all I can make out is two luminescent glowing red eyes. I thought I couldnâ??t be any more afraid than I already was. My heart is beating so fast that my body feels hot.
Closer. Itâ??s getting closer and closer, snarling at me, bearing what Iâ??m sure are its teeth. Something is dripping from its maw. Finally it steps before me and I know my hell is soon to end.
The beast lurches forward and holds me in a god like vice. Cold blood runs from my neck, cooling my overheated body. The pain is indescribable, but Iâ??m sure itâ??ll all be over soon. I clench my eyes shut as tight as I can, my teeth grind as I try to ignore the sounds of my flesh being torn from my body.
Suddenly I spring forward, my eyes still closed. Only a fragment of the pain remains, and I feel a familiar fabric in my gripping fists. Itâ??s my blanket. Finally I can open my eyes. Itâ??s still night outside, but Iâ??m so joyful that the experience was all in my mind. I pull the switch on my bedside lamp, eager to bathe in light once again.
My heart sinks. The lamp glows, but my room is still dark.
My lilies are my most prized possession. Hand picked. I will only take the most supremely beautiful specimens. They must be white as an angelâ??s wings, and so soft and delicate to the touch that you must be careful of the harm you bring to them. Perhaps it is selfish of me to horde them as I do. But as it is I who takes them first, it is I who shall enjoy them, their sweet, intoxicating scent and their soothing elegance.
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