Needless to say, these past few days have been stressful. Concidering what happened and all.
It's funny, when I look back and read "that" post, I'm stuck by got how worked up I got when I wrote it. I was tempted to go through and fix the spelling, but what purpose would that serve? Oh well.
I've had a massive amount of free time to think about that event. In fact, I've had nothing but free time since I arrived at this...location that I will not reveal for the sake of a friend. I think about her, it, whatever I've decided to call that thing. The thing I conveniently stopped thinking of as a human just long enough to...never mind. I'm a person who likes to think I have a decent amount of common sense, so I must wonder whether what I saw was really what I saw. Was it a lie? Was it a trick? Or, the question it always comes down to, am I just crazy? I thought it was a little early for that whole insanity thing. At least, I hoped.
So when my parents came home that evening, did they find me, beaten and dead on the floor? No. Even if other people could see what I saw, her face was too messed up after what I...never mind. I thought for a while that this might be His doing, but then I realized something important. That house I was living in was a death trap. A "safe" place to hide, but only if I never went outside. Multiple times seemed to show that that was His aim, that He wanted me to stayed holed up inside. To write more music obviously. You don't need to go anywhere to write music. So then, it would be counterproductive to make me want to run away from home, right? I don't know. Every time I try to think about it, I just give up. It's too confusing. Too troublesome.
And then there's another question: will I write more music? That too remains to be seen. Sure I can't exactly carry around a piano with me. That's just look silly. No, but I do have means to write songs digitally, right on my computer (which I, of course, took with me. I'm a blogger. I have to have my priorities straight). So I guess we'll wait and see.
The place I'm at is nice, wonderful actually, but I can't stay longer. The idea of going somewhere new is strangely exciting. Until the money and food run out and it gets dark.
She's still looking at me.
What do I do?
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Delicate Dream, Fragile Season
It hurts.
It hurts, but I'll tell you anyway.
It was a couple days ago. Or was is a couple weeks? Was it yesterday? Did it happen at all? I'm not sure which, but that's not important. I had just arrived home from school, exhausted, unhappy, and very much distracted. Maybe that's why I didn't see her at first. But we met each other soon enough. Her standing in the middle of my kitchen and me distraught over seeing her standing in the middle of my kitchen. How did she get in here? What was she planning on doing? Why was she still wearing such a laughable mask?
"Oh hey. You're home early." Why is she so calm? She's breaking and entering, so at least try to act like it matters. Not that she really needed to react, I was emotional enough for the both of us. I took the opportunity to tell her to get the fuck out of my house. Don't get me wrong, I'm usually much more polite than this. But not only did her and I not have the best track record, I very well couldn't stand the idea of this despicable person inside my home, invading a private and safe place. This is a place for me to hide, not for you to come and find me.
She ignored my demands. "Please don't be upset. I have something important for you. Something to tell you." she said in her infuriating tone of voice. What was it about her voice that made me despise her so much? Was it because even then I could sense something very...wrong with it? She took a few steps forward, her black dress shoes clacking against the floor. What was that she was holding in her left hand? Something small and black and silver and shiny. A box cutter?
There's only so much a person can handle. Especially a small and weak person like me. I can't cover my ears and ignore you. So it's time to do something about it I suppose. I rushed forward, punching her in the chest and ripping that stupid mask off her face.
I wasn't ready.
To see her.
Or her face.
Her true face
That god damn FACE. STARING at me. GRINNING like a smug little idiot.
She has no right to wear such a face. Just seeing her, just looking at her, I knew. I can't let this thing live. No
I grabbed the nearest thing my hands could find, a rolling pin resting on the kitchen counter. I struck her across the head and she fell to the floor. She didn't so much as make a move to resist. Her smile was unchanging, unflinching, as if to challenge me.
Are you really going to do what I think you're going to do?
Hit hit hit her again. have to wipe away that fucking smile
It still won't go away. I still see it
I pulled a knife from the block. I knew she was already dead, anyone could see it, but it didn't matter. Even in death she was still looking at me. with that face
I stabbed her face. ripped it to pieces again and again and again
I must have run that thing through her head at least 100 times. each blow carving lines in it's flesh, tearing it apart. some one was screaming. Was it me? No. I didn't make a sound. Only my frantic breathing. Wasn't thinking anything. Maybe one thing, but I've forgotten it by now. Just destroy it. I can't let it live. even if it's dead I can't let it live
The next sound to reach my ears was a metallic clatter as the knife fell to the floor. I spent a lot of time- I don't know how much- just sitting on the floor, that thing directly in my sight. Why? Did I think it was going to get back up? No. There was hardly anything left. I was there a long time. Doing nothing.
Then, without really thinking about it, I stood. I removed my horribly stained clothes and took a shower, standing motionless as I watched the little red trails snake towards the drain.
Afterward, I went about the surprisingly difficult task of making everything I've ever cared about fit into one bag. Too bad there's not room for a piano. It's not going to get much use anymore. Not from me.
It was inevitable. I had to get food, so I had to see the thing again. It didn't bother me as much as I know it should have. I made an awful mess. There was a fleeting thought of what my parents would think when they saw this. With any luck, I'd be far away by then.
One last thing. I rinsed off the knife and slid it into my bag.
And I left. Not a difficult decision as it pretty much had already been made for me. I just want to get far away. From that thing. The thing that still watches me with it's sickly sweet smile on it's face.
My face.
It hurts, but I'll tell you anyway.
It was a couple days ago. Or was is a couple weeks? Was it yesterday? Did it happen at all? I'm not sure which, but that's not important. I had just arrived home from school, exhausted, unhappy, and very much distracted. Maybe that's why I didn't see her at first. But we met each other soon enough. Her standing in the middle of my kitchen and me distraught over seeing her standing in the middle of my kitchen. How did she get in here? What was she planning on doing? Why was she still wearing such a laughable mask?
"Oh hey. You're home early." Why is she so calm? She's breaking and entering, so at least try to act like it matters. Not that she really needed to react, I was emotional enough for the both of us. I took the opportunity to tell her to get the fuck out of my house. Don't get me wrong, I'm usually much more polite than this. But not only did her and I not have the best track record, I very well couldn't stand the idea of this despicable person inside my home, invading a private and safe place. This is a place for me to hide, not for you to come and find me.
She ignored my demands. "Please don't be upset. I have something important for you. Something to tell you." she said in her infuriating tone of voice. What was it about her voice that made me despise her so much? Was it because even then I could sense something very...wrong with it? She took a few steps forward, her black dress shoes clacking against the floor. What was that she was holding in her left hand? Something small and black and silver and shiny. A box cutter?
There's only so much a person can handle. Especially a small and weak person like me. I can't cover my ears and ignore you. So it's time to do something about it I suppose. I rushed forward, punching her in the chest and ripping that stupid mask off her face.
I wasn't ready.
To see her.
Or her face.
Her true face
That god damn FACE. STARING at me. GRINNING like a smug little idiot.
She has no right to wear such a face. Just seeing her, just looking at her, I knew. I can't let this thing live. No
I grabbed the nearest thing my hands could find, a rolling pin resting on the kitchen counter. I struck her across the head and she fell to the floor. She didn't so much as make a move to resist. Her smile was unchanging, unflinching, as if to challenge me.
Are you really going to do what I think you're going to do?
Hit hit hit her again. have to wipe away that fucking smile
It still won't go away. I still see it
I pulled a knife from the block. I knew she was already dead, anyone could see it, but it didn't matter. Even in death she was still looking at me. with that face
I stabbed her face. ripped it to pieces again and again and again
I must have run that thing through her head at least 100 times. each blow carving lines in it's flesh, tearing it apart. some one was screaming. Was it me? No. I didn't make a sound. Only my frantic breathing. Wasn't thinking anything. Maybe one thing, but I've forgotten it by now. Just destroy it. I can't let it live. even if it's dead I can't let it live
The next sound to reach my ears was a metallic clatter as the knife fell to the floor. I spent a lot of time- I don't know how much- just sitting on the floor, that thing directly in my sight. Why? Did I think it was going to get back up? No. There was hardly anything left. I was there a long time. Doing nothing.
Then, without really thinking about it, I stood. I removed my horribly stained clothes and took a shower, standing motionless as I watched the little red trails snake towards the drain.
Afterward, I went about the surprisingly difficult task of making everything I've ever cared about fit into one bag. Too bad there's not room for a piano. It's not going to get much use anymore. Not from me.
It was inevitable. I had to get food, so I had to see the thing again. It didn't bother me as much as I know it should have. I made an awful mess. There was a fleeting thought of what my parents would think when they saw this. With any luck, I'd be far away by then.
One last thing. I rinsed off the knife and slid it into my bag.
And I left. Not a difficult decision as it pretty much had already been made for me. I just want to get far away. From that thing. The thing that still watches me with it's sickly sweet smile on it's face.
My face.
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