EggDropSoup
05-28-2005, 09:17 PM
AN: This short story is based on a true incident in Florida a few years back. I based it off the views of the world renowned writter Edgar Allan (Allen) Poe. This story won 1st place in the MS summer writing contest. I hope you like this, it took a great deal to think it all through.
How can I...endure this pain?
Written by: EggDropSoup
The golden rays retracted slightly, shinning resilient illuminating rays down through the cracks and sharp indentions of the blinds. The flickering wild figments and condescending rainbows played wryly on the solid object’s surfaces. Such a day it was, sunny and calm. The birds chirped madly, and even the walls of concrete, plaster, and stone did not drown out their merriment.
Their cries of gaiety and trans-filled bliss slurred ‘round in my head, blocking out any rational train of thought as it echoed within the small threshold of bared windows. The walls, each ugly and empty, held nothing to cease the cause of my annoyance.
Though their mimicry of my foul mood was enough to penetrate my endeared cell, it was not however; enough to cover or to hide the familiar clacking of heavy boots. The clanking of chains and the loud creak of the lock relinquishing its hold on the door caught my attention.
“C’mon boy.” The female guard muttered as she held the cell door open, widely. She was fairly old, wrinkles outlining the dimples of her cheeks and chin, tiny crows feet grazing the skin underneath long lashes.
The thick greasy brown hair was tied tightly upward, casting a loose bun, half hidden by the rim of the overly sized guard’s hat. Her bangs were lighter than the other bound strands, no spray or fruit scented gel holding them in place. Her face was set, hard and rough, and the flashes of light that shown in through the window sprang life to the small significant badge that graced the vanilla blazer, boundless authority and power etched in the very meaning of metal object.
I reluctantly got to my feet, the cold of the cell and the loose coils of the bedsprings had left my bones aching and my limbs stiff. I winced sharply as the stinging metal sliced and nicked at the vulnerable flesh of my wrists. The cuffs did little to serve their purpose, but they had succeeded in failing my futile attempts to free myself from their numbing grasp.
The walk down the hallway was something I had welcomed gladly. To escape the barred chamber and all it contained was something I had yearned so long for, but this freedom was something that would be brief, and then I would once again return to its desolate, iron, and unfeeling stronghold.
The interrogation room as they called it, was much to be desired, the small-enclosed room was just as empty as the cell I had left. A table and two chairs alone, taking up any trace of space or matter.
The female guard gestured with her hand toward the unoccupied table, and I unwillingly complied with the silent ‘command.’ The chair creaked uneasily with the chaste burden of my weight, and the springs and knobs squeaked as I pulled myself closer to the table.
“Ok, son…” the guard said, closing the door and taking the only remaining vacant seat. “Tells us how you did it…” her words were quickly followed by a sharp “Click” the recording device humming softly in the background.
I hesitated to move, might one gesture, or simple trace of emotion displayed upon my face or limbs give way to an even more extorted outlook. I caught sight of myself in the reflecting glass windows and frowned. My clothes were filthy from the cell I had just recently taken on as my new residence and my hair askew from lack of hygiene.
I smiled slightly as I ran a hand through the coarse strands, thick and full of tangled coils. I let out a weary breath, letting go of all that left me restrained, no longer shielding the need to release the burden laid upon my shoulders, that were themselves small in stature.
I was young then, though my voice did not held a peculiar tone, but rather that of one that showed no reference to the wishy-washy demeanor of changing vocals that puberty often brought. I guess it surprised them that I was young, and that even an innocent could commit such a vile and vicious treachery.
I started my story plainly; re-beginning it just as it had first began.
“It was January 14th…A Sunday. I remember because…Sarah had shown me her new sweater. She was…smiling…Her golden hair wrapped in an assortment of ribbons, the curls, coils of golden strands, flowing behind her with her every chaste movement. We were playing; the sun was shinning brightly on us, the warmth of its rays penetrating the harsh cold that nipped at our cheeks. I remember her telling me…how happy she was…and her voice, the high vocals that spun like a lyre…made my heart twinge and my own happy façade falter…it sickened me…
Her laugh, the steady erythematic sound that resonated from her throat crept from her parted lips, the slender arch of her neck, and quick flashes of her throat…
They all sickened me.
I no longer felt compassion and fondness for her, but the wheels of my mind whirled in anger and scrutiny. The hatred, zealous abominating repugnance, all of these intense aversions consumed me in that brief moment of her laughter, drowned out only by the howling wind.
The wooden bat was still in my hand, and the muscles lined within the tensed digits only tightened their hold. The wind died, leaving me again with the image of her happy glowing form, spinning happily in merry playful dance.
It was then…that I hit her…
She hadn’t said anything before taking the blow, she had just…smiled, her blue eyes mirrored with joy and mirth. Her pink lips set in poise.
She was very fragile…Sarah is… One blow to the head completely knocked her out. She wasn’t dead…I could tell because her body still penetrated my finger’s touch with her warmth, her breathing raspy and shallow.
I hit her a second time, then a third. Each thrust only encouraging another and when I did stop, her face and body where almost nearly unrecognizable. But, amidst the deformities, the smashed in face, and the lumps that covered her body, a stray of innocence still remained.
I quickly came to my senses. She was dead and I, being the murderer would be caught and condemned for such an abomination. I took her home, she was small, and it being a Monday gave me a perfect opportunity to go on unseen. Her light form proved easy to handle as I struggled, half dragging her up the stairs.
‘Far to easy.’ The thought spun wildly in my head and I quickened my pace causing me to stumble rather peculiarly on the tile flooring of the hallway.
I was not ignorant of what I had done, I knew I would eventually be caught, but like any desperate soul I searched for a way to hide the result of my impure actions from the world. I had to do something to hide the guilt.
Every corner, nook and cranny of my room contained an assortment of secret hideaways, but none in fact, the particular camouflaged abode that I required.
There was only one place I felt compelled to try. No one would find the girl within its wooden interior, or at least I hoped.
I found that the waterbed did indeed prove a well-made closure for her grave, her form easily slipped between the boards and wooden lining. It was a hope of mine that no one would know or discover the evil deed I had wrought. But all such deeds, whether tainted with evil or condemned…all tombs eventually become uncovered.
‘I killed her.’ The thought never left me, and each time I entered the room, breathing in the decay, I felt my soul was no longer able to receive or be bestowed upon, sanctity or forgiveness.
I remember lying there, the cold I felt, the shivering of my spine and the hair on the back of my neck that stood on end…all of it was from her, trying to pull me downward with her.
It wasn’t long till the investigators of Sarah’s disappearance found a lead, and inspected our home. Their search was fruitless, and they only left with even more questions weighing down upon them, heavily. It would seem that after a while, the incident had dulled, no longer were there suspicions of falsely accused neighbors or columns in the newspaper displaying the situation’s current status. Everything became rather hushed, and it no longer came up as an act of casual conversation.
I admit, it was a secret that would be impossible to find, but it was impossible to keep forever. Each day was strenuous, I would hear her laughing and see images of her face plaguing my dreams. Those rosy cheeks and cascading locks of cornflower hair, all of these things haunted me.
Countless times I prayed; for relief of the fright they caused me…but still…it continued…never ceasing. Even here…I still see her form in the shadows, though I am protected by the bars, which you swear are there for my safety…she can still break through them. She isn’t bound by her grave or by any logical plane…she merely is and continues to be.
It would seem her soul is still restless, and my own soul is no longer strong willed, but brittle, fragile, and weak.
You may think me insane, but would someone demented and mad be able to recall every aspect, every detail, so well? No, if I were insane my words would be found inaudible, logic stricken from its very rooted meaning.
She does not wish to die alone; she’s waiting for when I finally stop running…I fear that… I fear that I will indeed disappear. But at the same time, I feel I can disappear because I believe I’m unworthy of existence…a remote and disgusting excuse…letting us lead to our own demise…
Humans are that weak…
Even though we are all basically the same, even though our minds lack something basic, we must fill and compliment each other, for we fear that lack. Mankind cannot live alone, and so we fear that lack, its true distinction. We fear pain…and so…we run from the cause inflicted upon us. Shielding ourselves at the expense of others…Heh…I myself am running away…
But, can you blame me? Why not run from something that hurts? Yes, even I know I can’t run away from it forever. Running only causes more pain…and…as long as you know what that pain is…it can be endured.
And I choose…to endure that pain…”
How can I...endure this pain?
Written by: EggDropSoup
The golden rays retracted slightly, shinning resilient illuminating rays down through the cracks and sharp indentions of the blinds. The flickering wild figments and condescending rainbows played wryly on the solid object’s surfaces. Such a day it was, sunny and calm. The birds chirped madly, and even the walls of concrete, plaster, and stone did not drown out their merriment.
Their cries of gaiety and trans-filled bliss slurred ‘round in my head, blocking out any rational train of thought as it echoed within the small threshold of bared windows. The walls, each ugly and empty, held nothing to cease the cause of my annoyance.
Though their mimicry of my foul mood was enough to penetrate my endeared cell, it was not however; enough to cover or to hide the familiar clacking of heavy boots. The clanking of chains and the loud creak of the lock relinquishing its hold on the door caught my attention.
“C’mon boy.” The female guard muttered as she held the cell door open, widely. She was fairly old, wrinkles outlining the dimples of her cheeks and chin, tiny crows feet grazing the skin underneath long lashes.
The thick greasy brown hair was tied tightly upward, casting a loose bun, half hidden by the rim of the overly sized guard’s hat. Her bangs were lighter than the other bound strands, no spray or fruit scented gel holding them in place. Her face was set, hard and rough, and the flashes of light that shown in through the window sprang life to the small significant badge that graced the vanilla blazer, boundless authority and power etched in the very meaning of metal object.
I reluctantly got to my feet, the cold of the cell and the loose coils of the bedsprings had left my bones aching and my limbs stiff. I winced sharply as the stinging metal sliced and nicked at the vulnerable flesh of my wrists. The cuffs did little to serve their purpose, but they had succeeded in failing my futile attempts to free myself from their numbing grasp.
The walk down the hallway was something I had welcomed gladly. To escape the barred chamber and all it contained was something I had yearned so long for, but this freedom was something that would be brief, and then I would once again return to its desolate, iron, and unfeeling stronghold.
The interrogation room as they called it, was much to be desired, the small-enclosed room was just as empty as the cell I had left. A table and two chairs alone, taking up any trace of space or matter.
The female guard gestured with her hand toward the unoccupied table, and I unwillingly complied with the silent ‘command.’ The chair creaked uneasily with the chaste burden of my weight, and the springs and knobs squeaked as I pulled myself closer to the table.
“Ok, son…” the guard said, closing the door and taking the only remaining vacant seat. “Tells us how you did it…” her words were quickly followed by a sharp “Click” the recording device humming softly in the background.
I hesitated to move, might one gesture, or simple trace of emotion displayed upon my face or limbs give way to an even more extorted outlook. I caught sight of myself in the reflecting glass windows and frowned. My clothes were filthy from the cell I had just recently taken on as my new residence and my hair askew from lack of hygiene.
I smiled slightly as I ran a hand through the coarse strands, thick and full of tangled coils. I let out a weary breath, letting go of all that left me restrained, no longer shielding the need to release the burden laid upon my shoulders, that were themselves small in stature.
I was young then, though my voice did not held a peculiar tone, but rather that of one that showed no reference to the wishy-washy demeanor of changing vocals that puberty often brought. I guess it surprised them that I was young, and that even an innocent could commit such a vile and vicious treachery.
I started my story plainly; re-beginning it just as it had first began.
“It was January 14th…A Sunday. I remember because…Sarah had shown me her new sweater. She was…smiling…Her golden hair wrapped in an assortment of ribbons, the curls, coils of golden strands, flowing behind her with her every chaste movement. We were playing; the sun was shinning brightly on us, the warmth of its rays penetrating the harsh cold that nipped at our cheeks. I remember her telling me…how happy she was…and her voice, the high vocals that spun like a lyre…made my heart twinge and my own happy façade falter…it sickened me…
Her laugh, the steady erythematic sound that resonated from her throat crept from her parted lips, the slender arch of her neck, and quick flashes of her throat…
They all sickened me.
I no longer felt compassion and fondness for her, but the wheels of my mind whirled in anger and scrutiny. The hatred, zealous abominating repugnance, all of these intense aversions consumed me in that brief moment of her laughter, drowned out only by the howling wind.
The wooden bat was still in my hand, and the muscles lined within the tensed digits only tightened their hold. The wind died, leaving me again with the image of her happy glowing form, spinning happily in merry playful dance.
It was then…that I hit her…
She hadn’t said anything before taking the blow, she had just…smiled, her blue eyes mirrored with joy and mirth. Her pink lips set in poise.
She was very fragile…Sarah is… One blow to the head completely knocked her out. She wasn’t dead…I could tell because her body still penetrated my finger’s touch with her warmth, her breathing raspy and shallow.
I hit her a second time, then a third. Each thrust only encouraging another and when I did stop, her face and body where almost nearly unrecognizable. But, amidst the deformities, the smashed in face, and the lumps that covered her body, a stray of innocence still remained.
I quickly came to my senses. She was dead and I, being the murderer would be caught and condemned for such an abomination. I took her home, she was small, and it being a Monday gave me a perfect opportunity to go on unseen. Her light form proved easy to handle as I struggled, half dragging her up the stairs.
‘Far to easy.’ The thought spun wildly in my head and I quickened my pace causing me to stumble rather peculiarly on the tile flooring of the hallway.
I was not ignorant of what I had done, I knew I would eventually be caught, but like any desperate soul I searched for a way to hide the result of my impure actions from the world. I had to do something to hide the guilt.
Every corner, nook and cranny of my room contained an assortment of secret hideaways, but none in fact, the particular camouflaged abode that I required.
There was only one place I felt compelled to try. No one would find the girl within its wooden interior, or at least I hoped.
I found that the waterbed did indeed prove a well-made closure for her grave, her form easily slipped between the boards and wooden lining. It was a hope of mine that no one would know or discover the evil deed I had wrought. But all such deeds, whether tainted with evil or condemned…all tombs eventually become uncovered.
‘I killed her.’ The thought never left me, and each time I entered the room, breathing in the decay, I felt my soul was no longer able to receive or be bestowed upon, sanctity or forgiveness.
I remember lying there, the cold I felt, the shivering of my spine and the hair on the back of my neck that stood on end…all of it was from her, trying to pull me downward with her.
It wasn’t long till the investigators of Sarah’s disappearance found a lead, and inspected our home. Their search was fruitless, and they only left with even more questions weighing down upon them, heavily. It would seem that after a while, the incident had dulled, no longer were there suspicions of falsely accused neighbors or columns in the newspaper displaying the situation’s current status. Everything became rather hushed, and it no longer came up as an act of casual conversation.
I admit, it was a secret that would be impossible to find, but it was impossible to keep forever. Each day was strenuous, I would hear her laughing and see images of her face plaguing my dreams. Those rosy cheeks and cascading locks of cornflower hair, all of these things haunted me.
Countless times I prayed; for relief of the fright they caused me…but still…it continued…never ceasing. Even here…I still see her form in the shadows, though I am protected by the bars, which you swear are there for my safety…she can still break through them. She isn’t bound by her grave or by any logical plane…she merely is and continues to be.
It would seem her soul is still restless, and my own soul is no longer strong willed, but brittle, fragile, and weak.
You may think me insane, but would someone demented and mad be able to recall every aspect, every detail, so well? No, if I were insane my words would be found inaudible, logic stricken from its very rooted meaning.
She does not wish to die alone; she’s waiting for when I finally stop running…I fear that… I fear that I will indeed disappear. But at the same time, I feel I can disappear because I believe I’m unworthy of existence…a remote and disgusting excuse…letting us lead to our own demise…
Humans are that weak…
Even though we are all basically the same, even though our minds lack something basic, we must fill and compliment each other, for we fear that lack. Mankind cannot live alone, and so we fear that lack, its true distinction. We fear pain…and so…we run from the cause inflicted upon us. Shielding ourselves at the expense of others…Heh…I myself am running away…
But, can you blame me? Why not run from something that hurts? Yes, even I know I can’t run away from it forever. Running only causes more pain…and…as long as you know what that pain is…it can be endured.
And I choose…to endure that pain…”