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Writing Untitled(a short story)


KarmaOfChaos
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[color=deeppink]
I wrote this a few weeks ago. It's something I'd needed to write for myself since last christmas. I'm rather indifferent to it, but I'd like to know what everyone thinks. So...review please?

[b]Untitled[/b]

I stood at the edge of the counter, staring at the floor. My mother...my mother was sitting there, glass of vodka in hand, gulping it like some starving beast. In the corner of my eyes, I saw her consume glass after glass, pouring more, a lust, a desire that could never be gratified. A want that could only be ended with death. Pale red lips, makeup marks on the edge, as the burning yellow liquid slipped down.

Softly...so softly I spoke to her. Coddling. Coaxing her into giving me the glass. She refused, gripping it tighter. Like a child, grasping onto its favorite toy, unwilling to relenquish it to anyone. So I stood there. Staring. Hearing the meaningless ramble she spewed between gulps, slurred speech, words I couldn't even understand. Hearing, but not listening. Listening was too painful. Don't listen. Don't ever listen. Just let yourself be numb...

"Fuck you!! Fuck you bitch! You stupid WHORE! FUCK YOU!"

She screamed it, at the top of her intoxicated lungs. Cringing, shocked, I stepped back as a tsunami of pain hit me. I watched her scream hateful, mindless things at my grandmother. As she hit her, hit my grandmother.

She hit her.

It seemed so long ago I had sworn not to cry. But the tears poured now, a waterfall, a fountain of pain and shock, a fountain of...such hurt. Choking sobs layed havoc upon my body, as I clutched myself tighter. Hearing my own, pitiful cries. Whimpering and crying, I fell to the floor. What had happened? When did things go so sour?

A deeper voice now...someone's voice...I didn't know. My eyes were blinded with tears. A low, gravely voice. My father. They were both screaming now, screaming at the top of their lungs. Like a neurtotic cleaner is attracted to dirt, so to do I look up to see them. Hands on eachother, rough hands, full of rage. Reckless hands full of hate, not caring whether or not they destroyed. Where had the love in those hands gone? Now there was nothing but the hate...the screaming, bleeding, tearing hate.

Inside I was dying. Wave after wave of horrible sickness hit me, disgusted and afraid, terrified. Absolutely terrified. Fear and pain, over and over again, drowning me, suffocating me inside myself. I was screaming now too, screaming for them to stop. But it was all inside my head. My lips were silent. But inside my head I was screaming, yelling, crying, begging for them to stop. Pleading on bloodied, broken knees.

The smell of alcholol was so thick in the air, making my brain turn into a foggy mush. Nails painted black dug into the skin, tearing the cover apart, releasing the crimson life beneath. Alcholol and blood and tears, all mingled together inside my mind, exploding together in some sort of terrible crescendo, a horrific rhapsody. Dark hair brushed against my eyes, eyes lined red and wet from all the pain my body had rejected in the salty tears. I watched her with those pain-ridden eyes, so full of anguish and despair. Dark, endless eyes.

And then she was gone.

Gone. The house grew quiet, the disturbance had fled. She was gone. Out the door, yelling, whispering, stomping, sliding, slipping with unsteady legs. As if she had never been there, disappearing without anyone realizing she had the intention of leaving at all. Everything was so silent now...and as my body slowly started to realize what happened, I felt myself leave the calmness of the eye, and back into the storm.

Fear.

A thousand poisoned arrows hit me at once, a billion swords gutted me alive. The fear destroyed me, tore me apart. She was going, with suicide on her lips. I would never see her again, she was falling straight through my fingers. And even with all the hate and the pain, all the sadness she had caused, I knew that if she left for good, I wouldn't be able to pick myself back up again. Terrified, I finally let the screams that had been waiting so long to be heard. I was going to lose her to death, lose her to my own selfish pain. My arms and legs, once dead, regained movement, no time left for being numb and broken. If I didn't save her now, we both would die.

I ran to my grandmother, yelling, begging for her to call the cops. Call the ambulence. Call anyone. Someone to help me, because I couldn't do this alone. We had tried that already, being alone, not speaking, not doing anything. It didn't work. Now was the time to speak, to scream. This was it, redeem myself now or die trying, die regretting my life.

I sat there listening to her soft, aged voice. The whimsical North Jersey accent. And memories came flooding in.

Memories of the beach, the shore. The quaint little house. The little path filled with blackberries. All these sweet things...so pure and innocent. When did my life become so black? When did I lose all these beautiful things? I lost my innocence to my own selfish sin, my own refusal of help. I sat there and let us all suffer, not saying anything, not saying all those words that needed to be said so much. The tears started running again, draining me of all my happiness, my very soul falling into the soft fur of my teddy bear.

A hard knock on the door woke me from my reverie, brung me back to the bleeding present. Creak went the door, opening, as my eyes stared full of hope for my mother's familiar face. But it was a unknown face, a man dressed in the blue uniform. A cop. He leaned down, his beady blue eyes staring at me. His fat, sweaty body pervaded my space, my pathetic little world. His unknown odor invaded my nose, disturbing my sense of smell.

"Hey there little miss. Don't worry, it's gonna be alright."

Bastard.

I felt like screaming at him until my lungs tore and filled with blood, and drowned me.The very audacity, to begin to think he could even comprehend this, even begin to know what caused my tears. How dare he assume that he knew, how dare he. Anger and hate, they filled my body until I thought I might explode from the rage. Excuse me, but WHAT PART OF THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE ALRIGHT?!

Dark, hateful, black eyes stared at his disgusting form, directing all my emotion to his one being. This was not alright.

Hours passed, and the fear increased. A growing monster, clawing, digging at my ribs, leaving ragged, angry tears in my flesh with long, metallic claws. Eating me away from the inside, chewing at my heart, as veins burst and spewed blood, rusted ruby life unto the floor. And all the while I knew, with each minute that passed was another moment she had to end her life, and with it, mine. Biting the raw sking on my lip, not caring as it cracked open, a small new red river trickling forth...and then all of the sudden, like lightining breaking forth from the sky and striking me down...the phone rang.

I jumped out of my seat, having been so lost in myself I had forgotten the real world even existed anymore.

They had found her.

They had found her outside a hair salon. A fucking hair salon.

I felt anger well up inside me, destroying the fear and turning it to aged ash. An addictive drug, the rage pounded in my ears. She had been at a hair salon. All my fear, all my tears, all of that...wasted on someone like her. How was it that she had the right or the ability to hurt me so deeply? To reach her hand into my spirit and rip it out, like some bleeding, pulsing thing, grasping, gulping for air that couldn't be found. A fish pulled out of water and left on the ground to die of suffocation. She had taken my spirit and broken in a thousand places, taken her words as knives and thrust them into me so far, cutting chunks of me away, carving a sick demented picture out of me for her own disturbed pleasure.

I sat there, raging and numb, having choked on my tears. Slowly, my legs moved, uncramping themselves from the position they had held for hours. Unsteady, unsure, unknowning, I walked bleeding and broken up the stairs. And then I collapsed. Falling on the floor, weeping, sobbing, crying, screaming, bleeding, dying. Killing myself from the outside in, and the inside out.

This was never going to end.


-Karma
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forgive me for not reading all of it, but that was long... but incredibly GOOD! Karma, I swear you will never cease to amaze me.... Well you asked for a review, and I would have to say that I havn't met anyone with such a way with words. (not even my lang. arts teacher!)
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[size=1] I can tell that I must have inspired this in some form. :p

It has everything I love. Started off a bit bumpy...but eventually got me in near the last leg. It's good, of course. I do feel that it's a little too descriptive at parts...but in others the imagery works so well.

I thought it worked.[/size]
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[color=royal blue]Wow...Karma, that was fantastic. It was so sad...that's awful that anything like that could ever happen. The details of the story were wonderful.

I know one line that stood out to me was "Nails painted black dug into the skin, tearing the cover apart, releasing the crimson life beneath." I don't know why that stood out so much, but it did. I twitched when I read it from the thought, but it's still great.

You're an amazing writer with a talent for making words flow together. You've managed to take a topic as dark as this and make it beautiful...however sad it may be.[/color]
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This is amazing. It carries so much emotion and feeling. I actually felt what you where feeling when writing this. It made me really sad and almost made me cry. It is kinda depressing and full of sorrow but that just makes it better. Though it is kinda long it is worth the read. I believe it could have changed my outlook of the world into a even bleaker view.
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[color=deeppink]
Lol, no Mitch, twas not inspired by you. This story is my interpretation of what happened to me last christmas. It's all true. My real, actual life. I'm glad it's touched so many of you, I know it helped me deal with the whole issue a little better. =)

-Karma
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[color=royal blue]That's so sad...I kind of thought it may have actually happened to you. It was so realistic and well-written, with so much detail, I couldn't help but wonder if you had experienced it yourself. It definitely seemed like you had gone through it yourself. The best writing comes from things you've really experienced, though. And this piece was excellent. I'm glad it helped you to deal with the issue better.[/color]
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