It claws at me, tears me up inside. Acid.
Acid.
The truth hurts.
The truth is acid.
No one can contain it inside them, if they try the pain of it burning through their heart and skin drives them insane. The truth has weight. So much weight that it drags my head down so I can only look at the ground. So much weight that it pulls my shoulders down.
Acid.
The truth kept hidden is acid.
I keep it inside the hollow where my heart once used to be, it burns with every breath i take and I fight the urge to spill everything, to let the acid out of me. To let the story end- but no.
The acid is acid after all, it can only hurt me so much until I will go numb one day.
I will rejoice the day that happens but maybe I will have become so numb that I won't be able to feel any happiness at all.
But for now I can feel every twist of the gut and every spark of the fire that grows within me. I imagine the flames are grey and black, a match for my soul.
I can count every second I don’t speak, every breath of air I let out that could contain those words so perfectly practiced inside my head- in every scenario possible so that I can deliver the truth in perfection.
I play the lines inside my head again as I pack my bag with food, clothes and a few other things. I pretend that I am going to my best friend’s house for a sleepover.
Oh right. I can’t. Because she is dead.
Because I killed her.
The truth hurts. The guilt slices and the secret claws my heart, hoping for an escape.
I pull the bag on my shoulders and give myself three seconds before I slump to the ground beside my bed and reach down for the shiny heavy metal object. My gun.
There were six bullets in the gun.
With one, I killed my best friend
With the other I will take another down tonight.
Then the gun will go silent and so will the world.
She was my love, my life, my secret treasurer. I told her everything, trusted her with my life.She used to tell me she trusted me with her life too, guess trust isn't as unbreakable as we all thought.
I have run from the psychiatric hospital, I don't need treatment. I told them but they wouldn't listen to me. Forced me on a chair and sent electric shocks through me. It hurt, more than the truth.
It was a Sunday, I remember when I sat my family down and told them I didn't like boys. They tried to change my mind, but I knew so well-and who would've thought that the rich family would hold a homosexual girl in their house.
Defy the holy laws, never!
So they sent me away, to this hospital telling me it would get better soon. I would be better soon.
Was I sick? They thought so didn't they? Now I’ll turn real sick, sicker than anyone’s ever seen me be.
She didn't support me, didn't tell my parents to stop it. Didn't tell them anything.
Just smiled as I walked away with my sickness.
She disappointed me the most and the shocks she gave me with her betrayal were worse than the chair. I trusted her with my life, she let me die.
I wanted revenge so bad. And I still do, my mother taught me to go after what you want. To never give up.
Mother, I must give you up to the lord.
I was not sick! I am not sick! But I must show you what being sick means.
You will be sick of me, at least for the last few seconds of your life.
The truth hurts.
The truth is that this gun in my hand will leave a bullet inside my mother in ten minutes just like it left one inside my best friend ten minutes ago.
The truth is acid. Now you will feel the burn of my truth.
I. AM. Not. Sick.
YOU. ARE.
Points:
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Canary word: Present
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125,007 Literary Works • 672,815 Reviews
this was very interesting. i love how you equate truth with acid. i could feel it myself, the burning.
i also all the spaces between sentences. that makes it easy to read, it flows well, makes certain parts very powerful and is almost poem or prose like. i do this a lot on my bloggger blog.
i also loved the trapped, stewing, emotional dialogue.
well done and a definite thumbs up.
P.S.
about the capital letter haters... just whatever. it's kind of artistic. i see it often through my own writing and on otherw as well.
its your story, write it the way you want. these are supposed to be reviews, not a proper punctuation form.
thank you so much! you made my day!
:):)
Alright, this story defiantly has its pros and cons. The only cons are really some grammatical issues, no capital letters, and I feel some parts could have been rewritten. I do not find any of the writing bad in itself, the only reason I suggest some reworking is to bring the story to its full potential. On the pros side, I absolutely love the topic. I believe this story does address a serious issue on the fact that some people believe homosexuality is wrong and can be "fixed". I also think you related it to a sickness quite well and gave a fair feeling of suspense and the stress that the character was going through. I would look at this as a rough draft and work off of it, since the greatness is defiantly there. I hope you decide to come back to it and I would love to revisit it. Keep at it
thank you so much! i did fix the capital letters and i will surely edit it a bit more when i can.
Well, I suppose this... poem? Short Story?... was rather cool and interesting. But, I have to ask, do you know what a capital letter is? I don't remember even seeing one. Which is pretty bad writing. I could rewrite the whole thing to tell you all the mistakes you made, but that would take way to long.
Please don't think I'm being cruel -- here I'll tell you something good! You put periods! At least you know how to end a sentence.
Keep practicing!
~BookWolf
capital letters are important to english, or any language really but you can say its my hamartia. i usually skip that part because it cuts my flow during writing. anyway thanks for the review! i did fix the letters.