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This pain that's been burried deep insde of me, a pain of pure unholy words, has a history that's been deeply rooted within those who've had an evil hand in their own reality. It follows me and all of those whom come into contact with it. A pain that can only be described as a gruesome plauge that's casted it's cold-hearted hatred on those who are aflicted by it. I've seen those who've lost all that they love to it, and those who wanted it's pain. I've been face to face with those who've been consumed by its hatred and have changed not just emotionally, but phisically as well. It can change people. It forms its victim to whatever it imagines. I can remember so many loved ones, gone from something that everyone felt that they could stop, whom now are all under it's deathly will or stripped from their bodies and forced to be nothing but a souless shell. No one has stopped it. It can't be killed. Some have come to know it as a god, a figure that's been invented by those who've been pulled away from sanity. Others call it a demon, a vile beast that was born from acts of great violence and hate. I myself have seen this entity.
At the age of ten, I was told by my father to pack my things and that we had to leave home for a while. To this day, I can still remember him hugging me as he shed tears of which I have now come to believe were those of a man who's lost his wife to something that no one man could imagine. He told me to pack my things and say good-bye to all of my friends as well as my mother. My poor poor mother. She was a saint for all of those who knew her, and a great asset to anyone who knew about her great amount of will power. To me, she was indiscribable. She was a great overseer and protector, as well as someone who was so gentle and kind. She was so great. But the day that we left her, she was cruel. She was vile. She unstable. Her once tanned skin became pale and wretched, as almost it was a costume. He eyes changed from their natrually brilliant green to a dull dull grey, like the eyes of a blind man. Her once thick brown hair grew brittle and grey, and it was falling out in massive clumps. She was once a great mother and person, but then it took her, and ruined her from the outside to the deepest pit of her soul. I left with my father after exchanging my final words with the shell that was once my mother. We travelled for years until we found a place called "Launge-Hill".
I was sixteen when we stopped. I can remember the few people who were still living in the small quaint town. I can still see the diner and gas station in my head. This town holds mass importance to me. It's where I met my first real friend. One who wasn't a trouble maker or one of the unlucky damned souls who were hiding quietly in this town. He was tall and well kept, given the fact that he was on his own and that both of his parents were killed when he was just a young boy. His hair was black and shoulder length, and his eyes were a brilliant blue. He was always willing to help those in need, even at a great risk of failure. He would tell me stories about what he'd seen and how he lost his parents. He told me that one night, his father was out in thier hometown, and he got into a car accident. He was put on life support for fourty-eight hours. He died after fourty-nine. His mother became depressed and violent. She would usually start and end everyday with some form of conflict. As each day passed, she grew more and more distant. The night before she died, she was involved in a shooting. Her picture was plastered on tv screens and newspapers for months. She was once a lovely woman, but she grew vile and heartless, he would tell me. He even told me at one point that she pulled a nife on him and actually stabbed him. That was the same day that she took her own life. Since then, he's been trying to outrun his past. I can remember seeing the pain in his eyes when he told me these stories, and most of them were cut short by tears and pain. After a few weeks of growing a bond with him, I started to notice something different. He started to grow illtempered. He became hostile to anyone who needed help. At that moment, I knew he was gone. It wasn't realy the friend I had, but just the remenants of what once was. The last day I saw him was the day I ran from that hellish town.
As I stated before, he wasn't one who was willing to do harm, and he tended to that habit more often than others, but something about him wasn't right. There was something vile about him, something that read violence and hate. His once blue eyes grew to a foggy shade of white, brilliantly lit with crazed and deathly look, focused on nothing but the one he was after. Once he saw me, I ran. He chased me down relentlessly, but I managed to get away. Whatever happened to him, Jeramey wasn't the same. Since that day, I haven't gone back to that once quaint town. I remember travelling for days on end. I also remember something rather demonic. I was able to bear wittness to the creature that was causing this hellish spread across the earth. It was something that was lifeless as well as living. It was one of the darkest creatures I have ever seen. Even now when I think back on it I get a feeling of pure terror. It had a constant changing shape, and it was pulsing as a whole, similar to a heart. It was in the shape of what seemed like a giant demonic ball. I never thought that something could be so simple in shape yet be so sophisticated and deadly. I was horribly wrong. It was this moment when I myself was "touched" by the vile thing that was slowly stealing away those who I knew.
 THAT SEEMS OKAY YA · Sat Jun 30, 2012 @ 06:01am · 0 Comments |
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