I really don't care about this tale, it was, in a form, exploratory writing, so read as you will. It is not so dark after the intro, but if liked, I may continue it in parts.
P.S. Please don't do some crazy psychoanalyzations or sumsuch...
A darker story
Chapter 1:
Fade from black.
I was in a maze from hell. Blood spattered nightmarish trails across the concrete walls, the broken ceiling. A viscous carpet of liquid crimson constituted the floor, previously ruptured organs and intestines popping with every step I took. Echoes of my gasping breaths reverberated off of the narrow corridor as first I walked, and then ran to unearth an exit. The demon would find me. I wasn’t sure how I knew he was here, or how he knew I was, but we knew. I could feel his trumpeting call resound off of the walls, off of my soul, and he seemed to close the distance swiftly. I pushed my way past dead ends that I only knew were such by the instinct that I held so dear. Some filled with cowering people, crying and shaking and screaming and breaking. Some were cutting themselves; others were already cut. They sat there, caressing blood trailing runnels down their bruised, emaciated bodies. I was so abhorred with the abrasions they were inflicting upon themselves that I had no choice but to stop and stare. I was still hopelessly mesmerized by their brutal acts of self mutilation when suddenly another mind-numbing roar pierced the hollows of my skull. God, but it was so close. I splashed gore and moldering flesh on to the walls as I ran faster, creating a telling tale from my terror with the heat of impending doom fueling my adrenaline. The bloody amalgam of squalid remains was now up to my knees. Pushing past things I’d rather not describe as I sloshed through the grizzled redness, I raced for the looming dark. Looking left rewarded me with a child’s head lapping lazily in the gore. The head rolled in the blood to show that the hidden half of its face was rotted and green. Upon further, and much later inspection, I came to find that it had the features of one of my childhood friends. I heard screams from behind me and found that the demon had come across the same freak-show that I had been direly unable to avert my attention from. The gnashing of its teeth a promise to me of what the end to this tale would be. I found my fright renewed tenfold and began to push towards every ounce of my abilities to run through the mess that was now up to my waist. After running this way for a lifetime, I began to hear a faint wheezing from behind me as the demon charged. In that sound, I found eternal damnation. In that sound, I found secret horrors untold to even the most deviant of souls, for in that sound, I found my mortality. Or, rather, the promise of my damnation and thereby tortured and yet lifeless immortality. I daren’t turn round for the sight may have ended my life. Instead, I pushed. Waves of gore began to lap at my back and neck. The demon was strong, pushing the crimson sea aside as if it were naught but air. Its wheezes grew in circumference and, in accord, awoke within me a feeling I hope to never feel again: a pure and certain lust for my own death and pain. It was the root of the feeling a chronic thief feels at the prospect of being apprehended; utter ecstasy. I couldn’t help but moan. It wasn’t until that moment that I felt its putrid breath on my neck…
“Mr. Matthews, so kind of you to join us!” The black turned into brilliant white as I wiped the spittle from my lax and open mouth. As things slowly came into focus, I realized that I was in math class. For a few moments, I still saw the blood filled corridor overlying my perceptions of reality. One thing that I failed to mention entirely was the smell. It had burned my nostrils with its sheer fetid odor. This stench returned once more, a hundred fold, as a hellish reminder of what I went through. I gagged.
“Come on, Mr. Matthews, no one likes math, but it honestly can’t be all that bad.” My teacher, Mr. Deans, said with a mockingly macabre grin. Everyone laughed.
“You missed a spot,” said Camber, easily one of the most beautiful and lavished upon women of the college. I would have to have been blind or gay not to have followed the rest of my friends into that fly-trap of a crush on her. I glanced desk-ward and immediately established that she was indeed correct; there remained a spot of saliva, actually it was more like a miniature lake, on my study books… my five-hundred dollar study books.
“Oh, s**t!” I yelled, while scrambling for some sort of Kleenex, my mind admittedly not so up to par at that time.
“Mr. Matthews, I think that it would prove immensely invaluable, nay, critical, to your continuation of these studies if you were to find yourself wandering down the ever-trodden path towards the administration building wherein you would plead your case to the Dean of Administrations. Perhaps he would view you as less a charlatan than I.”
I partly blame the sleep, but ever have that feeling that you wish your mind were in better order before your mouth decided to speak for itself?
“Wha-? Isn’t that word above your pay grade?”
Needless to say, I had plenty of time to wake up as I found my way to the Administrations building…
“Mr. Matthews, you’re here on a literary scholarship, is that correct?” The Dean was reclining in his throne. I was willing to gamble upon the idea that his secretary had repeatedly neglected to mention the fact that reclining in such a manner accentuated his beer gut in a not so professional way. My malice was contributed to by the fact that this was the third time since my dream that someone addressed me in a nature akin to that of Mr. Smith addressing Neo in the Matrix. Even Neo got to kick some a** after the second time…
“That is correct, sir.” Most were frightened of the idea that the Dean held their futures in the palm of his sweaty little hand, but after such a horrifying dream, I was unfazed.
“As and Bs and one C. Very good.” He said as he read my file. “Tell me, son, why would you make a joke about one of your instructor’s finances?”
Thank god it was a long walk…
“Have you ever had to wake up from a horrible dream to a horrible day? I woke up to find that I had drooled all over my five-hundred dollar books, which I would have to pay out of pocket to replace, then I slip once on a cussword, and am badgered to come here, as well as having my scholarship be the butt of the rebuke. I was still half asleep, and take full accord for my actions.”
“I fear that this may soon become habitual for you…”
That was the straw that broke this camel’s back.
“Sir, I’m not normally like this, and what’s worse, those who are normally like this are taken by the hand and led back to class with not a word for consequence. Whereas the schools I had previously attended have had some sort of excuse, either football or some sort of connection with staff and faculty, those here are just dropouts with no ambition in regards to their future. I would understand if you said that the rebukes for my exceedingly few mistakes were intended to keep me as sharp as I’ll need to be to achieve the continuation of my success after leaving this place, but we both know that’s false. This is the fourth time I have ever been in trouble in the three years that I’ve been here, and only the second where you had to be involved directly. I know I wasn’t exactly performing to the best of my abilities, and thusly promise that if you let me walk, I will exceed any expectations you may have. There. I’ve said my peace, so what now?”
“Now I give you that rumored slap on the wrist and send you on your way. You are jeopardizing your scholarship with your arrogance and refusal of authority. Those we lead back to class so casually are students we feel will change the world.”
“God, help us.” I muttered.
“What was that?” He was getting livid now.
I remained silent. Clearly the walk wasn’t long enough, but this charade was pissing me off.
He henceforth continued in a much angrier tone, “So, your scholarship will be stricken from you if you have one more counterproductive relationship with either staff or students on this campus or off! You have shown me that you are just another arrogant child who doesn’t see who feeds him or shelters him! This is a prestigious college built upon the dreams of our Fore Fathers in hopes of accomplishing great things. You couldn’t begin to comprehend the gift you’re throwing away! Now leave!”
As I turned on a heel, I made an astounding connection. So that was it, his reason for hating me and no others: he didn’t feel that I was capable of being an adult, and my being one was stepping on his shoes because he was convinced that I was disrespecting him. Selfish b*****d. So I turned back and said one last thing… Thank god it didn’t get me kicked out then and there, not that it mattered later.
“So what do you want, a thank you? You know, your condemnation of the child you think I am will never change the fact that, with or without this scholarship, my work will be built in ideas and ideals, that every reader of my works will gain a new perspective on their current situations, that one day I will reach my goal of having inspired, and maybe even enlightened someone. The best you can hope for is to push and guide someone in the direction that I will go with or without your assistance. This is the best your career will ever have to offer, while mine is still undefined. I didn’t ask to be your equal, and I know I’m not your superior, but I won’t tolerate being treated like a child, getting here in the first place proved I’m better than that.”
I turned and left over waves of stunned silence.
P.S. Please don't do some crazy psychoanalyzations or sumsuch...
A darker story
Chapter 1:
Fade from black.
I was in a maze from hell. Blood spattered nightmarish trails across the concrete walls, the broken ceiling. A viscous carpet of liquid crimson constituted the floor, previously ruptured organs and intestines popping with every step I took. Echoes of my gasping breaths reverberated off of the narrow corridor as first I walked, and then ran to unearth an exit. The demon would find me. I wasn’t sure how I knew he was here, or how he knew I was, but we knew. I could feel his trumpeting call resound off of the walls, off of my soul, and he seemed to close the distance swiftly. I pushed my way past dead ends that I only knew were such by the instinct that I held so dear. Some filled with cowering people, crying and shaking and screaming and breaking. Some were cutting themselves; others were already cut. They sat there, caressing blood trailing runnels down their bruised, emaciated bodies. I was so abhorred with the abrasions they were inflicting upon themselves that I had no choice but to stop and stare. I was still hopelessly mesmerized by their brutal acts of self mutilation when suddenly another mind-numbing roar pierced the hollows of my skull. God, but it was so close. I splashed gore and moldering flesh on to the walls as I ran faster, creating a telling tale from my terror with the heat of impending doom fueling my adrenaline. The bloody amalgam of squalid remains was now up to my knees. Pushing past things I’d rather not describe as I sloshed through the grizzled redness, I raced for the looming dark. Looking left rewarded me with a child’s head lapping lazily in the gore. The head rolled in the blood to show that the hidden half of its face was rotted and green. Upon further, and much later inspection, I came to find that it had the features of one of my childhood friends. I heard screams from behind me and found that the demon had come across the same freak-show that I had been direly unable to avert my attention from. The gnashing of its teeth a promise to me of what the end to this tale would be. I found my fright renewed tenfold and began to push towards every ounce of my abilities to run through the mess that was now up to my waist. After running this way for a lifetime, I began to hear a faint wheezing from behind me as the demon charged. In that sound, I found eternal damnation. In that sound, I found secret horrors untold to even the most deviant of souls, for in that sound, I found my mortality. Or, rather, the promise of my damnation and thereby tortured and yet lifeless immortality. I daren’t turn round for the sight may have ended my life. Instead, I pushed. Waves of gore began to lap at my back and neck. The demon was strong, pushing the crimson sea aside as if it were naught but air. Its wheezes grew in circumference and, in accord, awoke within me a feeling I hope to never feel again: a pure and certain lust for my own death and pain. It was the root of the feeling a chronic thief feels at the prospect of being apprehended; utter ecstasy. I couldn’t help but moan. It wasn’t until that moment that I felt its putrid breath on my neck…
“Mr. Matthews, so kind of you to join us!” The black turned into brilliant white as I wiped the spittle from my lax and open mouth. As things slowly came into focus, I realized that I was in math class. For a few moments, I still saw the blood filled corridor overlying my perceptions of reality. One thing that I failed to mention entirely was the smell. It had burned my nostrils with its sheer fetid odor. This stench returned once more, a hundred fold, as a hellish reminder of what I went through. I gagged.
“Come on, Mr. Matthews, no one likes math, but it honestly can’t be all that bad.” My teacher, Mr. Deans, said with a mockingly macabre grin. Everyone laughed.
“You missed a spot,” said Camber, easily one of the most beautiful and lavished upon women of the college. I would have to have been blind or gay not to have followed the rest of my friends into that fly-trap of a crush on her. I glanced desk-ward and immediately established that she was indeed correct; there remained a spot of saliva, actually it was more like a miniature lake, on my study books… my five-hundred dollar study books.
“Oh, s**t!” I yelled, while scrambling for some sort of Kleenex, my mind admittedly not so up to par at that time.
“Mr. Matthews, I think that it would prove immensely invaluable, nay, critical, to your continuation of these studies if you were to find yourself wandering down the ever-trodden path towards the administration building wherein you would plead your case to the Dean of Administrations. Perhaps he would view you as less a charlatan than I.”
I partly blame the sleep, but ever have that feeling that you wish your mind were in better order before your mouth decided to speak for itself?
“Wha-? Isn’t that word above your pay grade?”
Needless to say, I had plenty of time to wake up as I found my way to the Administrations building…
“Mr. Matthews, you’re here on a literary scholarship, is that correct?” The Dean was reclining in his throne. I was willing to gamble upon the idea that his secretary had repeatedly neglected to mention the fact that reclining in such a manner accentuated his beer gut in a not so professional way. My malice was contributed to by the fact that this was the third time since my dream that someone addressed me in a nature akin to that of Mr. Smith addressing Neo in the Matrix. Even Neo got to kick some a** after the second time…
“That is correct, sir.” Most were frightened of the idea that the Dean held their futures in the palm of his sweaty little hand, but after such a horrifying dream, I was unfazed.
“As and Bs and one C. Very good.” He said as he read my file. “Tell me, son, why would you make a joke about one of your instructor’s finances?”
Thank god it was a long walk…
“Have you ever had to wake up from a horrible dream to a horrible day? I woke up to find that I had drooled all over my five-hundred dollar books, which I would have to pay out of pocket to replace, then I slip once on a cussword, and am badgered to come here, as well as having my scholarship be the butt of the rebuke. I was still half asleep, and take full accord for my actions.”
“I fear that this may soon become habitual for you…”
That was the straw that broke this camel’s back.
“Sir, I’m not normally like this, and what’s worse, those who are normally like this are taken by the hand and led back to class with not a word for consequence. Whereas the schools I had previously attended have had some sort of excuse, either football or some sort of connection with staff and faculty, those here are just dropouts with no ambition in regards to their future. I would understand if you said that the rebukes for my exceedingly few mistakes were intended to keep me as sharp as I’ll need to be to achieve the continuation of my success after leaving this place, but we both know that’s false. This is the fourth time I have ever been in trouble in the three years that I’ve been here, and only the second where you had to be involved directly. I know I wasn’t exactly performing to the best of my abilities, and thusly promise that if you let me walk, I will exceed any expectations you may have. There. I’ve said my peace, so what now?”
“Now I give you that rumored slap on the wrist and send you on your way. You are jeopardizing your scholarship with your arrogance and refusal of authority. Those we lead back to class so casually are students we feel will change the world.”
“God, help us.” I muttered.
“What was that?” He was getting livid now.
I remained silent. Clearly the walk wasn’t long enough, but this charade was pissing me off.
He henceforth continued in a much angrier tone, “So, your scholarship will be stricken from you if you have one more counterproductive relationship with either staff or students on this campus or off! You have shown me that you are just another arrogant child who doesn’t see who feeds him or shelters him! This is a prestigious college built upon the dreams of our Fore Fathers in hopes of accomplishing great things. You couldn’t begin to comprehend the gift you’re throwing away! Now leave!”
As I turned on a heel, I made an astounding connection. So that was it, his reason for hating me and no others: he didn’t feel that I was capable of being an adult, and my being one was stepping on his shoes because he was convinced that I was disrespecting him. Selfish b*****d. So I turned back and said one last thing… Thank god it didn’t get me kicked out then and there, not that it mattered later.
“So what do you want, a thank you? You know, your condemnation of the child you think I am will never change the fact that, with or without this scholarship, my work will be built in ideas and ideals, that every reader of my works will gain a new perspective on their current situations, that one day I will reach my goal of having inspired, and maybe even enlightened someone. The best you can hope for is to push and guide someone in the direction that I will go with or without your assistance. This is the best your career will ever have to offer, while mine is still undefined. I didn’t ask to be your equal, and I know I’m not your superior, but I won’t tolerate being treated like a child, getting here in the first place proved I’m better than that.”
I turned and left over waves of stunned silence.
