Words left unsaid, in an unsaid manner. Lies, truths… What really matters? Happiness is but false reality, and but a false hope. Oh such falseness, I still yet yearned for a pure reality in which happiness could be attained, could be true! Wanting of course never meant you would receive such, and I wanted everything. Frustration grows. I could not attain with my greater abilities what so many got with their lesser abilities. Arrogance, Jealousy. Yes, one such as I could be jealous of lesser men, albeit only in one category. Yes, one such as I. Curse this world deemed the one I shall spend my torment, curse this fate, But it will not end… I had no wish to die.
Laughter with a dark taint, if it were not my own I would have instantly been alerted in fear. I could not stop this laughter, pent up with rages of depression and sorrowful anger. Frustration grows. I clenched my hands, into fists… Tendons pull, knuckles white. I shivered with what I felt, I can explain it all in one word. Animosity. I unclench my hands in a manner most strained, pulled my black gloves from the black traveling pouch at my side. Silken hands. Sheathed thus, I proceeded to work magic. Oh not the usual poetic grace of a magic, no a magic of fury, one of death and destruction. These too were under natures domain. I created fantastic images of flowers, ivy, and oak trees… Turning it to a sickening black rot in the next moment. Not normal, no I was my self but yet in a different position than what I deemed normal.I attempted to pacify this will, but such an action was not in my control… I continued to create heavens of earth, heavens that turned soon to hells. An idea despairingly malignant entered unto my mind, I created a rose bush, with a blood red stems and black flowers. The thorns were deadly in their construction, poisoned. I cackled in an insane glee… I could create! I could destroy! Lament in such glories, these instantaneous ramblings of a sick mind. I caressed my disease, letting it transform me ever more. The illness was, after all, one of my own making. I returned to my deadly rose, rotting it away until one stem with one black rose remained upright. Disdaining caution I tore it from its base, and escaped its blades by pure luck of the moment. Poison, beautiful poison… I held this unreality made real to my nose, as always my ability made sure that all was perfection, it smelled of bad memories, past sorrows… A sweet aroma one of my favorites. This drinking in of my creation had its costs, the bloom was as deadly as the thorns… I felt a tear slide down my face, and I knew its trail would be laced with blood. But such costs were acceptable, if I wanted to pay nothing I would have nothing to pay. I only paid in sins, past and present. My currency of course was unending, I was a very rich man. Commencing my cackling did continue. Rot proceeded to rot, and what dreams arose from its smoldering depths were to be extinguished.Starlight long since fading, Sunlight arriving… Pale morning, insignificant… I preferred the colors and wistfulness of sunsets, and the accompanied arriving of my natural setting… Darkness. The light, however, continued to proceed… Despite how much I willed the brightness away… Dark thoughts play in a dark mind. I grinned, a sardonic twist of the mouth. I grew trees, wrapping them about my forest clearing no more. Branches unfurled filled with leaves, intertwining. A dark canopy, I was pleased. I sat down amongst the decay that was now above my knees in height… The stink of it was, in essence, a sustaining force. It kept me alive as I was dying, dying of things not fatal… I still held the deadly blossom, my silk gloves protecting me from prolonged exposure… I saw how exactly right I had made it, no single flaw existed… I snapped the rose stem in half… Hand uncontrolled… Enraged. How could I create such impeccable things… When I was so flawed. Such obvious scarrings, they were mine and I embraced them in perpetual woe, and increasing derangement. I knew that a thorn had pierced my skin, through the silken strands protecting my hands… But I did not care, I didn’t wish to die, but I never really lived. I released the bloodied thing from my hand, broken in half… It was thus discarded. I then took the time to create a plant of ever increasing rarity, but I knew of its properties and thus it was now present, here and now. I let it grow, I let it bloom, I let it flower, I let it fruit… I picked one of the ripe orbs, pale green in color, and consumed it. Bitterness, almost revulsion… But it was a cure for my poison, leaving me but to my own devices… The foul taste in my mouth remained, but I did not move, I did not hear, I did not see… I merely thought, trying to perceive a way to continue, but I always ended up stopping. Finally I grew bored of such, I sighed, removed my shadow protection and proceeded to see a sunrise… Yet another dull day to live a diseased life… I looked for a discarded rose.
Nice imagery…
The metaphor’s a bit confusing though. The conjuration… I’m tryin to place whether its entirely internal or that the thorns are represented both emotional and physically. That or Im completely offbase and have missed the point entirely… in that case please clue me in.
I can say that i enjoyed it though.
Sometimes a person can be really talented at writting and is able to write on any topic he/she desires without having experienced the feelings they describe. Then there are souls that that have experienced such anguish and torment in their lives that they are able to create the most amazing artworks (be that of fine art, music or writting) to express their inner feelings.
I would say that you are one of the few people in this world that has been lucky enough to receive both a gift of writting and has experienced a depth of emotion strong enough to fuel your gift.
You should use it 🙂
this image of a creature both flawed and godlike is an great representation of the dichotomy of human nature. reading this, i felt a swirling sensation, as if surrounded by a whirlwind of emotion. very surreal but also grounded in tangible concepts and emotions. you might want to create less stereotypical imagery – roses have been done to death – write about something of your own design. You might want to read some emily bronte (if you haven’t already) – wuthering heights is full of misery, revenge, love, victims and victimizers. Its register matches yours, which is a trait i’m sure you’ll appreciate. all in all, nice work.
GO AND PLAY WITH YOUR TOY NOW.
GO AND MASTURBATE A ROUND NOW AND FEEL EVEN COOLER THAN YOU THINK YOU ARE!!!
DarkLady… you have problems. Perhaps you should seek help for compulsive email-abuse syndrome!
At least she doesn’t post anonymously.
Enchanting. This, by far is one of my most favourite styles of writing, but it can sometimes be so poorly produced. If you post more, like this, I’ll be looking forward to it.
Very nice I likey a lot!
~DeZ~
I didnt expect this to even get on here… Its an ok article of mine. I did post something new today, something newer, not one of my better ones but I like it’s theme.
🙂 :/ 😐 : 🙁 : 😐 :/ 🙂
DarkLady I enjoy what you write.
Ok, all in all, the imagery and the idea presented were wonderful, however you may want to focus a little more on grammar and try no to be too repititious.
I enjoyed it very much. It reminded me a lot of myself in certain respects… I would definitly love to read more of your work.
X-RiK-X
Hey extremly kool story, i really liked it…if u write n-e-more drop a line I’d love to read it.