What a sad kingdom I hold. What place do I keep for myself that is worthy? Theyd have you believe Ive got something to boast, this hole in my chest, that there is honor in my sufferance. I sit inside on a throne meant to be proud, now cold and hard for the wrong that Ive caused. The chance for her was here, stood right here, but my un-readiness
My pain is my pain twice fold, for I am the one who put it there, and Im the one who holds it. A crack in my soul, so small at first it just wont close now its all gone: anything I ever had to offer is tainted or will be soon. Is it not a travesty to give me these things, these imaginings, and make me also too weak to realize them? A poor joke! A poor life no life. No life at all. Better to live dead than live no life. And as I say the words, I breathe deeply, the cold comes in calming everything it touches, stopping everything that hurts. My eyes close and thoughts fade.
A familiar, gentle footfall and I am cut. The blade bites deep, and my mind is not alone. I can feel the seed, already spreading through my mind as if it belonged there! So many times Ive tried to cast it aside. So many times it never left. It comes, it heals, it seals itself stronger than before, and sets me aflame again! I lay broken, defeated, watching it work, watching it make things the way that is all too familiar, and I reach out.
Please I say Please, just let me die. Let me end. The worker works, pays me no head, as if she had to finish now. And as she dashes the last bits of rebellion from me with her slender hand, she turns. No face on her, no features. No light, nor dark, not one outward superficial sign, but shes there right in front of me. I look up in disgust, mirroring her own feelings as she looks down at me.
She kneels.
I cant move! I cant yell, I cant even breathe as she takes my face in her formless hand.
She breathes to me. One last word
Her lips are one mine, light and gentle, and she leaves them there. I can taste her, sweet and hot, saturated by her very being. In her kiss I die, and in dying find my strength. I rise up and take her neck in my hand, take from her the same kiss that was my end, and finish it myself. Timelessly I draw back. Her breath warm and heavy, I dont need to open my eyes to know that hers are closed as well. She draws away, and my grip tightens on her throat.
Not yet not yet
I let her skin slip from my grasp. Barely able to contain my self-revulsion, I watch her leave the way she came. And so I take my seat on my throne of breath and blood in the way of the frigid wind. A lone word is all I dare, the Name of the Lady, my savior, and my death, my goal and my opposition. Silently damning myself for the right choice,
Hope
My first short story, I'm not sure if it belongs here or in the poetry section. I guess I'll find out if its moved. I'm hoping it is as different as I hope without being unclear. If there is anything that is obscure, please tell me. Its really hard to see from this side of the script.
Go with God.
I am aware,
Isacc
My pain is my pain twice fold, for I am the one who put it there, and Im the one who holds it. A crack in my soul, so small at first it just wont close now its all gone: anything I ever had to offer is tainted or will be soon. Is it not a travesty to give me these things, these imaginings, and make me also too weak to realize them? A poor joke! A poor life no life. No life at all. Better to live dead than live no life. And as I say the words, I breathe deeply, the cold comes in calming everything it touches, stopping everything that hurts. My eyes close and thoughts fade.
A familiar, gentle footfall and I am cut. The blade bites deep, and my mind is not alone. I can feel the seed, already spreading through my mind as if it belonged there! So many times Ive tried to cast it aside. So many times it never left. It comes, it heals, it seals itself stronger than before, and sets me aflame again! I lay broken, defeated, watching it work, watching it make things the way that is all too familiar, and I reach out.
Please I say Please, just let me die. Let me end. The worker works, pays me no head, as if she had to finish now. And as she dashes the last bits of rebellion from me with her slender hand, she turns. No face on her, no features. No light, nor dark, not one outward superficial sign, but shes there right in front of me. I look up in disgust, mirroring her own feelings as she looks down at me.
She kneels.
I cant move! I cant yell, I cant even breathe as she takes my face in her formless hand.
She breathes to me. One last word
Her lips are one mine, light and gentle, and she leaves them there. I can taste her, sweet and hot, saturated by her very being. In her kiss I die, and in dying find my strength. I rise up and take her neck in my hand, take from her the same kiss that was my end, and finish it myself. Timelessly I draw back. Her breath warm and heavy, I dont need to open my eyes to know that hers are closed as well. She draws away, and my grip tightens on her throat.
Not yet not yet
I let her skin slip from my grasp. Barely able to contain my self-revulsion, I watch her leave the way she came. And so I take my seat on my throne of breath and blood in the way of the frigid wind. A lone word is all I dare, the Name of the Lady, my savior, and my death, my goal and my opposition. Silently damning myself for the right choice,
Hope
My first short story, I'm not sure if it belongs here or in the poetry section. I guess I'll find out if its moved. I'm hoping it is as different as I hope without being unclear. If there is anything that is obscure, please tell me. Its really hard to see from this side of the script.
Go with God.
I am aware,
Isacc
