Post by Vanity on Feb 18, 2018 15:01:21 GMT
Inside this little house, I rot. Physically, I sit, morose. The miasma that is cigarette smoke eats away at my lungs, eroding them. My mother sits down on the couch, watching the Andy Griffith Show with a sullen expression upon her face. My father had gone off to work, trying to make the ends meet. I, on the other hand, sit in the dining room, playing with the slab of meatloaf on my plate. It wasn’t good.
Mentally, the abysmal life that I’m stuck in continues to erase any bits of happiness that my mind tried to produce. I merely sit still inside of this perpetual madness. I look down at my arms, seeing the scarring of my previous attempt. I pick at it slightly. As soon as I did, I heard the lolling of liquid from across the room. I lowered my head, luckily evading a glass bottle. It collided with the wall, causing glass shards to fly out.
“Don’t fucking play with that, you dumb bitch,” my mother snarled at me. I looked over at her, frightened by her sudden act of rage. My eyes returned to the glass pieces littering the floor.
“Do you want me to clean up?” I asked, standing up slowly.
“What the fuck do you think?” my mother’s anger persisted. I nodded, before walking over to the broom and dustpan. Wrapping the instrument in my hands, I stared at the brown glasswork. It clashed against the white, marble floors of our home. I sighed, not exactly excited to get to work. As I did, I snuck peeks at my mother who mindlessly wasted time away.
I went back to being a transparent figure in the room. My mother knew of my presence, but didn’t bother to recognize me standing around. She did notice me sucking on my finger.
“What the hell?” she asked, gazing at me. There was some remnant of concern. I knew that it wasn’t really for me. It was probably for the floor. “Robin, what are you doing?” she asked, exasperated at me cleaning blood off my finger.
“I cut myself a little, no worries,” I said, calmly. My mother merely looked on with wonder. “I got it,” I added, before standing up completely. I picked up the dustpan and walked outside. Discarding the glass pieces kept me away from the constant duality that was my mother. The look in her eyes when she saw my bleeding finger reminded me that a caring mother laid dormant in the facilities of that broken and abusive mind.
As I returned to the house, I decided not to enter. Instead, I sat down on the steps, looking into the clouds, their white color afflicted by the warm sunset. My mind began to wander.
I wanted a meteor to come ripping through the ozone layer. The massive object would get caught in the gravitational pull of the Earth. As if it was plucked by a godly hand, it would steer itself in our direction. No one would notice it until it was too late. The inevitable demise of the human race was upon us. I didn’t want a minor asteroid to collide with us. I wanted a nuclear effect. I wanted the rock to overtake half of the earth.
When it came close enough, I wanted to black out the soon. No, it would replace it. Its fiery outer layer would engulf the earth in brilliant red hues. As it crept closer, I wanted all my stupid neighbors to come outside and watch. They would stare up at the fiery ball of destruction with a vacant stare. An opening wonder would settle, only to be followed by frantic screams of anguish. The despair would be delicious.
I wanted the meteor to crash into the earth, preferably somewhere in Russia. The humor of the Motherland being wiped out by the mass impact would garner a sadistic laugh out of the dying world. A laugh that would occupy the lungs of every last being on this earth. A final laugh at the misery of humankind as the world faded to black. The endless darkness and cold only came after a merciless wave of annihilation erased us all.
As I looked on, visualizing the end times. I felt a small grin creep upon my face. Did I really bear some much malice towards the earth? Was it a mere illusion brought on by the sorrow that I faced every day of my life? The bus ride to school was the briefest release from the tragedies of my fractured life. I theorized that these images only came when I felt the need to release steam. It helped me quell the nightmare of my possible insanity.
Perhaps it wasn’t misanthropy, maybe it was my own despair eating away at me. I frowned immediately when I came to the conclusion that the meteor was not on its way to release me. Instead, I was stuck with the beautiful but damning sunset. Its whimsical splendor coupled with a latent irritation. I sighed out and broke myself out of my daydream. I lowered my head to settle myself, but right as I did, I felt a sudden intense pain. My face fell forward into the ground, and only darkness came after. The last sound I heard was one all too familiar.
“Get the fuck back inside and finish your food!”
Followed by the crashing of another empty bottle.
Mentally, the abysmal life that I’m stuck in continues to erase any bits of happiness that my mind tried to produce. I merely sit still inside of this perpetual madness. I look down at my arms, seeing the scarring of my previous attempt. I pick at it slightly. As soon as I did, I heard the lolling of liquid from across the room. I lowered my head, luckily evading a glass bottle. It collided with the wall, causing glass shards to fly out.
“Don’t fucking play with that, you dumb bitch,” my mother snarled at me. I looked over at her, frightened by her sudden act of rage. My eyes returned to the glass pieces littering the floor.
“Do you want me to clean up?” I asked, standing up slowly.
“What the fuck do you think?” my mother’s anger persisted. I nodded, before walking over to the broom and dustpan. Wrapping the instrument in my hands, I stared at the brown glasswork. It clashed against the white, marble floors of our home. I sighed, not exactly excited to get to work. As I did, I snuck peeks at my mother who mindlessly wasted time away.
I went back to being a transparent figure in the room. My mother knew of my presence, but didn’t bother to recognize me standing around. She did notice me sucking on my finger.
“What the hell?” she asked, gazing at me. There was some remnant of concern. I knew that it wasn’t really for me. It was probably for the floor. “Robin, what are you doing?” she asked, exasperated at me cleaning blood off my finger.
“I cut myself a little, no worries,” I said, calmly. My mother merely looked on with wonder. “I got it,” I added, before standing up completely. I picked up the dustpan and walked outside. Discarding the glass pieces kept me away from the constant duality that was my mother. The look in her eyes when she saw my bleeding finger reminded me that a caring mother laid dormant in the facilities of that broken and abusive mind.
As I returned to the house, I decided not to enter. Instead, I sat down on the steps, looking into the clouds, their white color afflicted by the warm sunset. My mind began to wander.
I wanted a meteor to come ripping through the ozone layer. The massive object would get caught in the gravitational pull of the Earth. As if it was plucked by a godly hand, it would steer itself in our direction. No one would notice it until it was too late. The inevitable demise of the human race was upon us. I didn’t want a minor asteroid to collide with us. I wanted a nuclear effect. I wanted the rock to overtake half of the earth.
When it came close enough, I wanted to black out the soon. No, it would replace it. Its fiery outer layer would engulf the earth in brilliant red hues. As it crept closer, I wanted all my stupid neighbors to come outside and watch. They would stare up at the fiery ball of destruction with a vacant stare. An opening wonder would settle, only to be followed by frantic screams of anguish. The despair would be delicious.
I wanted the meteor to crash into the earth, preferably somewhere in Russia. The humor of the Motherland being wiped out by the mass impact would garner a sadistic laugh out of the dying world. A laugh that would occupy the lungs of every last being on this earth. A final laugh at the misery of humankind as the world faded to black. The endless darkness and cold only came after a merciless wave of annihilation erased us all.
As I looked on, visualizing the end times. I felt a small grin creep upon my face. Did I really bear some much malice towards the earth? Was it a mere illusion brought on by the sorrow that I faced every day of my life? The bus ride to school was the briefest release from the tragedies of my fractured life. I theorized that these images only came when I felt the need to release steam. It helped me quell the nightmare of my possible insanity.
Perhaps it wasn’t misanthropy, maybe it was my own despair eating away at me. I frowned immediately when I came to the conclusion that the meteor was not on its way to release me. Instead, I was stuck with the beautiful but damning sunset. Its whimsical splendor coupled with a latent irritation. I sighed out and broke myself out of my daydream. I lowered my head to settle myself, but right as I did, I felt a sudden intense pain. My face fell forward into the ground, and only darkness came after. The last sound I heard was one all too familiar.
“Get the fuck back inside and finish your food!”
Followed by the crashing of another empty bottle.
You know you can't switch accounts without turning it off?
I feel cool
