Unintelligent and Pointless Babble..and uh, oh yeah! Writing too. (original) (raw)

If the days were as dark as I judged, black would be the sunlight. And if the days were as long as I dreamed, we would all be resting. For these reasons, I need not forget that nothing happened, and go on thinking it never would since I would rather see than be in the dark. A longer day is a colder one.

In my dream, I perished from death, and my ghost observed them close the casket. He made no attempt to join my body, so I was alone with death. If I had been alive I would have told myself not to clamor for I am alive; I am just not of the "real."

My senses dulled, and my joints lock in place, but I was jailed in a coffin far from any establishment known to man. There was no hell, but it assuredly was cold. Further was warmer, but farther was the finest according to the empty space in my chest from the car accident. The clamps of wind swept around the broken glass embedded in my skin to better the cold and pull me from familial desire. I missed the smell of the air and the colors of light that reflected from the objects to my eyes. You would know not how much you would miss even the most insensible of objects when the only company you have is a sarcophagus with only yourself inside. The silence seemed screaming, and the black appeared to move in patterns across my motionless stare at the velvet roof covering everything else that I knew to be there. I wondered how I could think being dead, but, then again, has anyone ever been there to prove this wrong? The dead could also be capable of contemplation. And what of my longer life? Could I move in due time, or would I remain motionless until the edge of hour crumbles beneath me and I fall, swirling still, into nothing?

I could feel my blood hardening within myself, and the coals were simmering down in my heart allowing the blood to turn even more inflexible. I started to panic; what was I to do? The most awful way to die is to let it happen knowingly, but it was all that I could do; I had to sit and wait for it to consume me. Starting from my tips and moving toward my center, I could feel the hard, dry blood crumbling inside of myself like the ashes from a fire being blown elsewhere. I still could not move my eyes to gaze upon the invidious occurrence, but somehow my mind could tell me how it appeared just as well as if my own core gaped into it. The chill worsened to a freezing blast, straight from winter’s perdition, and my legs and arms tingled like they had been amputated. The frost that was building up over my face was counteracted by the sweat I produced. My left eyebrow twitched and I could feel what appeared to be feeling returning to me.

My skin had grown dry and eerie from my body discontinuing its routine functions, and it was pealing off from my body. Where my muscle was visible from the surface, from where the skin was leaving holes in my structure, it was burning like fire engulfing a forest, searing everything in its path. Just then, my left arm barely moved, but just enough to notice, from the sharp pains being inflicted. The skin was now disintegrating from my face, and this rapid, virus-like phenomenon ate its way through the thin layer of tissue that I had for protection. As inevitable as it seemed, I still tried thinking for possible actions that would prove to my benefit. My finger joints fidgeted, making my entire left arm maneuverable, and I began pounding madly on the hood of my tomb hoping to make some difference. I burned from the freezing disease still, now all over my body, and it grew ever worse. The bone in my foundation peeked through the muscle sending chilled ice blasts throughout my arm, and it felt as if I had icicles impaled underneath my muscle, but I kept pounding and hammering on my roofed space crushing them inside of myself.

My jaw unlocked and I thought about screaming for dear life, but I assumed that my shrieks would do me no favors for I was alone, falling into nothing and away from all. The hair covering my scalp began falling out and sparking embers which ignited my clothes. The brutal pains now progressed onto my back, and I could not help but scream out from the mutilation of my body. I arched my back as a mental coping technique to make me think it would help ease the agonizing. Tears began sprouting from my eyes. It looked as if my body were locked in a stove, and the mauling of my arms was almost too much to bear. Hollering in agony, I suddenly felt a sharp click go off in my brain, and my entire body jumped. There it was! If there were any a time to try and escape, it was then.

Like a fanatical madman, I beat upon the hooded box, over and over again, screaming from the flames and crying from the affliction. Again and again I pounded wishing I would break the support in the structure to be free from the suffering. My hands were blanketed with lacerations, and the blood was pouring down my arms.

Alas! Light crept through an opening I installed, and I punched at the hole to enlarge it in size. The rays of light glittered on my face, burning my eyes, but I had to continue. I knocked a large piece out from the shield. The hole was large enough for me to slip out of. "This is it," I thought. "I’m finally getting out of this hole from Hell."

I bent my knees and sat up, releasing my head from the casket. I tried to leap out, but my waist was stabbed on the way up, and I could feel what blood that was left oozing out of the gaping wound. I shrieked insanely at the gash. Clawing at the floor, I dragged myself, fighting the darkness returning to my eyes. The greying made it difficult to see, but I proceeded to claw forward into the black. Grunting at the mortification, my grip slowly weakened on the floor. I shut my eyes and tilted my head. Clinching my teeth together to try and ease the pain, my life was checking for reasons to stay with me. I took the deepest breath I had ever taken in my life, but my thoughts slowly liquefied, and I was alone, without a shadow, a ghost, or a soul.