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I'm sitting in my chair, my arms bent, the soft surface supporting me. My back is sore, but only from sitting here for so long, and so often. How many souls have I departed? How many relationships have I cut short? How many tears have I spilt in my need for blood? how many people have I shared pain with?
I'm sitting in my chair, my neck bent, and my eyes lowered. The music flows over me, and it sends aches through my heart. The strings catch my breath, and the keys jerk at my mind. The smooth, rugged vocals prepare my soul while the dark lyrics pull at my heart. I'm hurting, and I'm loving it. I'm crying, and I'm laughing with joy.
I'm sitting in my chair, my legs limp, my mind set. My fingers dance across the keyboard, my nails and bony joints crashing down upon the plastic. My eyes watch as the pixels come together, creating the image I hold in my mind. A story is coming together. An existence is being born. A sad man is meeting a beautiful girl. They're falling in love. They're engaged, then they're getting married. My fingers cry out in pain, and my eyes blink to satiate a desert. I'm creating. I am God. They're married, expecting a child. They're kissing softly on the couch. My mouth curls at the edges, their sick, sadistic pleasure echoing upon the screen, soon to echo through the minds of many. She's caught in a fire and dies while he is maimed in his factory. He cries to her burnt corpse to wake up as the doctors lie dead on the floor. I'm watching as this sick reality is brought into existence, while the dark melodies slide over me, thrusting this sick, painful world forward. He's killing. He's dying. He takes a bullet to the head.
I'm sitting in my throne, my eyes closed, my body calm and shaking. The man is dead, and the world is happy. I'm publishing the story, and the views rack upon each other like cockroaches in a deserted room. The melodies are ending, leaving me in the dark silence that screams to my ears in pleasure.
I'm sitting in my chair, my body limp, the court watching. I'm done my work for tonight. I am calm and unsatiated. My hunger lingers, and my tears have yet to fall. I am unsatiated. I've taken another life.
- by Absque Iter |
- Fiction
- | Submitted on 07/28/2010 |
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- Title: The Tragedian
- Artist: Absque Iter
- Description: I kill and I kill, and I am yet unsatiated.
- Date: 07/28/2010
- Tags: tragedian
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