Home Games All LiteraryClubs Events Forums Green Room Poetry Prose Roleplays

Monster.

Jiggity · 2007-03-29T08:28:19Z

No matter what he did, or where he decided to go, he always ended up here. He exhaled slowly, breath frosting in the air before him. He was alone. It was around sundown, although you couldn't tell; the sky a constant, colourless grey. No one ventured out at this time. He lit a cigarette. The tip flared a vivid orange red as tendrils of smoke snaked out of his mouth. He looked around; boarded up windows, empty shops, vacant bus stop benches. It was a ghost town. He ground the cigarette beneath his boot. His stiff, brocaded jacket sat heavily on his shoulders. He picked at gold buttons that didn't shine, flexed fingers pale white from the cold, anything to avoid the inevitable. He turned his head, as he had at this exact moment, of every day, for the last several years; stared at the face. Gaping and huge, twisted in unthinkable anguish, it was the only thing real in this sterile place. So you've come back . The face didn't move, but the ponderous sense of jaws opening and closing was still there. The smooth, feminine tone, revealed nothing. "Have I," he said, more a dull recognition then a question. He looked up at the eyes. Why did you do it? Always they went through the same routine. "Why do we do anything?" It was a question that lurked at the back of his mind, haunting him with its elusiveness. Why had he done it? Why did he walk and talk and think and feel when all he wanted to do was sleep?Why did he come back to this place? To remind himself, he realised suddenly: to remember. His hands shook; so pale when they should be red. It seemed to him that the eyes, so empty, should be red from weeping. They should be saying something, instead of remaining silent. So terribly quiet. He hunched his shoulders. Why do you come back? So many questions. Familiar, stabbing hurt. "To see you," he whispered. The hypocrisy hung between them. He looked away. Liar. "So tell me the truth," he said. A single tear from the heavens dropped, bursting on his hat. You are an anomaly; a murderer who begs. A liar who seeks truth. He spat, but the taste remained. He swallowed, but the guilt lay heavy on his tongue. He was so cold. So alone. "Why do you torment me?!" A strand of saliva stretched between his bared teeth. Who was the monster here? If you are going through hell, keep going. And he could, too. But then, it was never that easy. "If only it were that simple." He stared at the mouth, seemingly ready to consume him. "If only it were that simple," he repeated. There were so many things to say... he wanted to weep and confess, to fall and rail, to scream and be noticed. So many things to say and yet the silence said everything. How long would it take for it to all come out? He sighed. You shouldn't have done this. It isn't right. Why couldn't she see? "I had no choice." Frustration ate at him, he wanted to make her see... he wanted to be with her; to live again. "If it was wrong, why did no one stop me?" The logic of a criminal; a mad man. "A man in love," he corrected. Release me! And here finally, desperation cracked the dull, relentlessly toneless voice. As it always did. He sighed again, looking up as the grey sky finally split and rain fell. It was time to go. Till next time. Composed once again, her voice revealed nothing. "See you...," he said. With a last, longing look, he turned and strode away.

Dunnskee

Gender

Points 890

Reviews 2

Fri Sep 19, 2008 3:06 am

Dunnskee says... · Fri Sep 19, 2008 3:06 am

As has been mentioned, you're a tad comma happy in your description, though it was executed well. You've a good writing style, but this story could have been better had the tone been different. It came off with a half-finished air to it, like it was done in a short amount of time, on a whim (which, between us, is exactly my writing style when I do shorts.).

I open my wallet
and it's full of blood.

Quote

“Such nonsense!" declared Dr Greysteel. "Whoever heard of cats doing anything useful!" "Except for staring at one in a supercilious manner," said Strange. "That has a sort of moral usefulness, I suppose, in making one feel uncomfortable and encouraging sober reflection upon one's imperfections.”
— Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell

Monster.

About / Info

Forums & RPG

Literary

Resources