That's the bottom line. I'm not all that great at it and I have a ton to learn, so please, give me suggestions, tell me what you like and what you don't like, but DO NOT flame.
It’s strange; I have never felt such hate for anything in the world. But this beast. This wretched animal. Staring at me from the darkness. It’s blind, pale-grey eyes locked on to me as I sit on a bed sized, water-smoothen rock, a stone throw across the silent, deathly-grey creek. My heart just overflows with contempt, far beyond what I have ever felt.
Not even a feeling of murder or destruction. Just pure hatred.
Its worming, malnourished head, slightly swaying back in forth atop a long, serpent-like neck as it continues to peer through the slight fog at me, sniffing ever so slightly, tasting the air -- my skin, my scent, my breath.
What’s strange is I don’t remember how I got here.
Sitting alone, as the ashen clouds drift lazily through the sky, in some unknown forest by a seemingly dead creek, sinking silence. But the beast, it seems to be all that my memories entail, intoxicating. Its eyes remind me of nothing, yet everything: as if my past eternity has been consumed, or better yet filled with silence.
But the scariest thought is, underneath the hate -- and disgust. I think I have loved this disgraceful creature. Whether this affection was past, present, or consumed in my future, my memories do not aid me.
Flashes of lightning, exploding the surrounding: clamoring soundlessly.
The beast cringes at the sudden lighting of the silence, a rumbling thunder from far off predicting the beginnings of acid. Coiling its head over its sharply boned back. Another crash of sight and sound.
He writhes in the suffocating senses.
Within moments, she’s gone.
It’s intoxication seeping away with each breath.
Gone. A gurgle of water of stones begins to come back to my ears. A single drop of rain hits my nose, startling me to reality; memories fading fast, faster than the flash of a smile or the blink of an eye.
Silence. Darkness. My eyes open. A warm body, cotton covers, the patter of rain on the roof, my book resting lovingly on my chest; the light dimly lighting a single wall of my room. The hatred, love, silence, grey, the rain, the creek. Seeping away.
I thought the dreams were over.
The breaking, crashing, silent, throbbing, whoring dreams.
You know, the ones you awake: sweating as if the marathon your mind just ran was actually real.
Or the ones where you awake: so cold, so very cold -- checking for the loved one you thought was there, who really wasn’t.
Sometimes, I find myself awakening: seeing nothing but seeing everything; not sure whether to move -- paralyzed by a fear of nothing, or maybe just the fear of being awake.
Drifting to silence. I fall, down, stagnate slumber.
A faint reminder of a deep, sinking, heart-corrupting hatred slashes faster than lightning through my mind.
The ash continues to drift by on the lifeless, gray waters.
Gray. The color, yes, color: overtaking every other color, actually, accentuating all colors, yet binding them to It's will; intoxicating the eyes, enveloping all other colors.
Nothing more than air enters my lugs, yet I feel like I’m literally drowning: sucking in each breath, as if the last hit was nowhere near satisfying enough. Whether the fact that I’m barely breathing is because of my inability to actually move or the fact that the Gray is swallowing everything -- I do not know.
My lungs press hard against my heart, pushing the weight up, higher, higher. Through my esophagus, my neck, my eyes, to my brain.
Clouding, filling, inhaling my thoughts. Evolving.
Everything becomes a Gray silence.
I’m not sure if I’m actually thinking or just dead.
I actually can grasp a memory of the heaviness.
The heavy heart. Seconds, the pillow. And into deep slumber, I take my dive.
Think. Think clearly. Breathe. Look.
Four. Three. Four. Two, one. I try to distinguish what’s actually hand and what’s finger. My eyes blur, enclosing and encumbered.
Masks, gas, masks. They drift through the trees -- over the ash -- staring, peering, terrorizing the landscape.
Their eyes peering through perfectly circular goggles into the utterly dark, yet luminously pale evening sky.
Ha. Vultures; no masks. They eat the sky. The horizon consumed by their dark eyes. Their haunting feasting, tearing eyes.
The potent, poisonous, intoxicating gas irresistible, corrupting, destroying the world as it spins just slightly atilt. Fog falls.
A flash of distant, terrible memory, ash, gray, hatred, darkness, her. The beast, its eyes, no, its wretched, sweet scent.
A crown, blood. A demasking of what’s nature.
While still naturally hidden to I, Love broke the nature, removing what was mine.
From one, through one.
Rescue, no, Love. Forgiveness?
I can hear it.
I can hear it.
The anger. Acidic. Corroding the air.
With every syllable he says, the air thickens: swimming with emotion.
The flashing memories of the creature form in my mind. Comparing -- every word, every motion of the hands, every pin-pointing glare -- to it, she: him.
His eyes begin to transform into those lifeless, blind grey orbs of silence.
His head, morphing into the serpentine monstrosity, and flailing like a tension cord being cut.
In a single shuttering glimpse, her entire form changed -- the beast.
I don’t waste a single moment; my legs move in quick retreat faster than my brain has time to react: to even utter a terror-filled scream.
My mind becomes numb with the senses; the pleasure begins to flood back through the memories.
Why has he returned?
I melt into the fire. Sobering. Sleeping.
I just write what comes to me, so yes, some of my stuff is influenced by my religious beliefs, be tolerant as you wish, its appreciated.
I hope you guys enjoy what I have to offer (and this list will grow as time goes on).
Nate (69 Nine)