Post by John Smith on Aug 24, 2008 4:07:54 GMT 1
”I lost to that boyscout?”
”HOW?
CAN
THIS
BE!!!!?”
My words rang in the silent forest. Random thoughts collided and brought out an ocean of long dormant feelings. I had a hard time controlling myself from pounding at the tree in front of me. The damage done was already too excessive. My fists were a bloodied mess, my elbows had had all the skin scraped off, even the slightest touch felt like a sledgehammer to the face, knees were dripping with blood. My thoughts … were dripping with hatred. Soaked with venomous images of people I cannot remember seeing or meeting. Their images emerging from a darkness. Not still images. They’re moving around. The more they move, the more I hate. The more I hate, the more I urge to destroy. Each urge to destroy resulted in my fists slamming against the trunk. I had had a lot of those urges. I feared that, if I tried to open my fist, I would feel a pain so intense that I would pass out. And if I passed out, I would hear the voices again.
An echo of a reminiscent voice appeared in my mind. Barely a day ago had Nathan been proclaimed the winner. That was the voice echoing through my mind. It kept telling me he had won. I could not escape the voice, only when my mind was occupied with pain. So, I longed for each urge to destroy. Embraced it with my open crimson coloured arms with a smile devoid of any emotion. My eyes were baggy and black around the edges. I had not been able to sleep this night. I had kept turning and switching position in the darkness. Thinking about what I could have done differently. And I had slowly succumbed to my anger. To the point where I had thrown my breakfast plate through the room in a fit and stormed out the house. I had pretty much been standing here, attempting to toil my anger ever since.
Judging from the look on my hands … That wasn’t going as planned. But was anything going as planned? I went to school. Avoided contact with other people and did none of my homework. My grades are just about as useful as toilet paper. A left hook hit the tree. Another knuckle was ruptured open and blood poured out from the fresh wound. I bit down hard and my teeth were nearly destroyed in the process. I took a deep breath between my clenched teeth. I could taste and smell blood. I took a glance at my left fist, and my eyes widened in sheer shock. It was covered entirely in a crimson colored liquid. It was dry now. I ought to go home and shower and get my wounds checked. But I wasn’t sure if I could stand talking to my parents. And if they noticed my hands … there would be questions. Questions I did not want to answer. I couldn’t go home. At least not yet. If I stayed out for longer, then they might get worried, and their anger would be different than pure rage. It might be anger out of worry. And that beat being scolded for just being an idiot. It appeared my anger had made way for some logical thoughts. Perhaps I was finally taking a few grasps at reality.
I growled lowly, I did not want reality, I wanted my own unfair world. I thought about punching the trunk again. But another punch and I would be sprawling on the ground holding my fist like some sissy. Better calling it a day. Or sort of a day, since I wasn’t going home. I was probably just going to a store to find bandage and turn myself into a mummy. Or I could go to the school nurse and avoid using money on it. Heh, there was a winning plan. I would just have to figure out a story to tell the nurse. If someone had asked me a week ago, if I could ever be standing in some fucking forest and be pounding my fists and legs against a tree, I would have laughed. I would have laughed for a long time. Now it didn’t seem that hilarious anymore. Now, it felt more like everything was a predetermined path. And I felt it would all end in tragedy. A tragedy of epic proportions.
Part 2.
”HOW?
CAN
THIS
BE!!!!?”
My words rang in the silent forest. Random thoughts collided and brought out an ocean of long dormant feelings. I had a hard time controlling myself from pounding at the tree in front of me. The damage done was already too excessive. My fists were a bloodied mess, my elbows had had all the skin scraped off, even the slightest touch felt like a sledgehammer to the face, knees were dripping with blood. My thoughts … were dripping with hatred. Soaked with venomous images of people I cannot remember seeing or meeting. Their images emerging from a darkness. Not still images. They’re moving around. The more they move, the more I hate. The more I hate, the more I urge to destroy. Each urge to destroy resulted in my fists slamming against the trunk. I had had a lot of those urges. I feared that, if I tried to open my fist, I would feel a pain so intense that I would pass out. And if I passed out, I would hear the voices again.
An echo of a reminiscent voice appeared in my mind. Barely a day ago had Nathan been proclaimed the winner. That was the voice echoing through my mind. It kept telling me he had won. I could not escape the voice, only when my mind was occupied with pain. So, I longed for each urge to destroy. Embraced it with my open crimson coloured arms with a smile devoid of any emotion. My eyes were baggy and black around the edges. I had not been able to sleep this night. I had kept turning and switching position in the darkness. Thinking about what I could have done differently. And I had slowly succumbed to my anger. To the point where I had thrown my breakfast plate through the room in a fit and stormed out the house. I had pretty much been standing here, attempting to toil my anger ever since.
Judging from the look on my hands … That wasn’t going as planned. But was anything going as planned? I went to school. Avoided contact with other people and did none of my homework. My grades are just about as useful as toilet paper. A left hook hit the tree. Another knuckle was ruptured open and blood poured out from the fresh wound. I bit down hard and my teeth were nearly destroyed in the process. I took a deep breath between my clenched teeth. I could taste and smell blood. I took a glance at my left fist, and my eyes widened in sheer shock. It was covered entirely in a crimson colored liquid. It was dry now. I ought to go home and shower and get my wounds checked. But I wasn’t sure if I could stand talking to my parents. And if they noticed my hands … there would be questions. Questions I did not want to answer. I couldn’t go home. At least not yet. If I stayed out for longer, then they might get worried, and their anger would be different than pure rage. It might be anger out of worry. And that beat being scolded for just being an idiot. It appeared my anger had made way for some logical thoughts. Perhaps I was finally taking a few grasps at reality.
I growled lowly, I did not want reality, I wanted my own unfair world. I thought about punching the trunk again. But another punch and I would be sprawling on the ground holding my fist like some sissy. Better calling it a day. Or sort of a day, since I wasn’t going home. I was probably just going to a store to find bandage and turn myself into a mummy. Or I could go to the school nurse and avoid using money on it. Heh, there was a winning plan. I would just have to figure out a story to tell the nurse. If someone had asked me a week ago, if I could ever be standing in some fucking forest and be pounding my fists and legs against a tree, I would have laughed. I would have laughed for a long time. Now it didn’t seem that hilarious anymore. Now, it felt more like everything was a predetermined path. And I felt it would all end in tragedy. A tragedy of epic proportions.
Part 2.