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Khronos
01-09-2010, 04:32 AM
http://i49.tinypic.com/2e5tzpy.jpg

rating: mature

I felt like puking shit.

I use to have a highschool English teacher tell me cuss words were a moron's form of impressive vocabulary. Well, fuck, what was I supposed to say? That I felt like puking feces? We all know that doesn't establish the same effect.

And if cussing is for morons, does that make every stereotypical badass an idiot?

Most likely. They all die anyway. But that's not why I was dying.

I was dying because I took enough ibuprofen to fuck up my liver for the next 20 reincarnations.

Too bad I didn't believe in being reincarnated.

I really don't know what I believed in. Faith didn't help me when I gulped down capsule after capsule, and it sure as hell didn't stop me. And if I really did believe in something, this suicide would fuck my afterlife permanently. So, all in all, I was screwed.

And I still felt like puking shit.

As for why I'm killing myself, that could be explained in two words.

Christine Langer.

"Go kill yourself, Steven."

That's what she told me, when she left me. When she left me in my cardboard box of an apartment, while she walked away with my bedsheets wrapped around her, and me, just naked on the bed.

So this is what Christine Langer does. She almost fucks you and then tells you to fuck yourself for eternity.

I don't know if she meant it literally, and I don't know if I took it literally, but it was stupid to be considering this now. My liver was failing and soon my skin would turn that ugly jaundice yellow. Then I'd die a slow, painful death.

How tragic for me. I'd die in old bathrobes, in a bed without sheets, and without screwing the one girl I thought I loved.

The last thing I saw before my organ systems went to hell, were two gleaming red eyes.

And then, I, Steven Hale, died.

Khronos
01-09-2010, 06:32 AM
If this was death, it hurt a shit load.

Eternal slumber my ass.

My insides felt like they were on fire and were ready to combust at any second. My head felt like it was slowly detaching from my neck, and, at any moment, it would just roll onto the floor lifeless.

I didn't feel like I was dead.

But I didn't feel alive anymore either.

I wanted to move, but every part of my body felt like a ton of lead, completely useless and impossible to move. My eyes twitched, sliding back and forth without much more purpose than acknowledging that at least something still moved. Then they froze too and my pupils constricted, focusing on something dark staining my naked mattress.

Blood.

As far as I knew, ibuprofen overdoses didn't make you bleed, and neither did death.

Blood.

I couldn't stop thinking about it, and the word kept repeating itself in my head like a fucked up record. Even if my head did fall on the floor, that record would probably keep going and going.

Blood.

Suddenly, every muscle in my body constricted and my vocal cords exploded in howling pain. My fingers dug themselves like claws into my naked, bloodstained mattress. The metal springs were grazing my fingertips.

Blood.

I must've been in hell (or something like it) now, where I'd spend all eternity clawing my mattress, howling in pain, while my brain continued to repeat blood in my head over and over. This was some fucked up, random shit. But it suited hell well enough, if the devil liked bondage, that is.

Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.

This is where I ripped my mattress to pieces. This is where I licked up every bit of my blood like a crazed animal. This is where I died and came back again as the living dead.

A walking nightmare.

A fucking bloodsucker.


A vampire.

Khronos
01-18-2010, 08:50 PM
They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.


I don't think that concept applies here.

Mockingjay
01-27-2010, 02:13 AM
Keep posting Khronos! I really love this story

Khronos
01-27-2010, 05:32 AM
Everything was black, that kind of pitch black darkness that doesn't even let you know your eyes are still open but there's still the urge to blink. I wanted to reach out my hand to touch something, something to let me know what was there, where I was, but my hand refused to respond.

In the next moment, light rushed into my eyes and my cheek felt oddly heavy with pain. On instinct, my hand rubbed my cheek and I shocked myself with the feeling of my own cold skin. I was relieved to know I could move again despite being colder than an ice cube.

"Fucking newbie, scared yourself with your own temp didn't you, dumbass?"

The voice startled me almost as much as my freezing hand did.

He was laughing now. It was a strange sound, deep and rumbling.

The more he laughed, the more I didn't like it. But this wasn't the time to be getting pissed off.

I debated which question would be the most important to ask. Who are you? or Where are you? I knew neither and both seemed of equal importance, although, the latter would probably continue the stressing of the term "dumbass".

I went with the wiser, smarter looking choice.

"Who are you?" My voice held together better than I thought it would.

The voice answered, heavy with an I'm better than you attitude, "The smarter question would have been, 'where are you'?"

I didn't know where the fuck or who the fuck this was, but I wanted to beat the shit out of that smartass already.


(draft. may be deleted. plot still in process.)