jackel
Things are so much clearer in the other world. The never ending, babbling haze that veils my mind is drawn up by the abrupt finality of death. Blurred memories suddenly sharpen to pinpoint focus and it is overwhelming. So overwhelming in fact, that many of these memories are strewn by the wayside—it’s simply a protective instinct—though I can take away the bare minimum of my endeavors. But for me, the finality of death is only temporary. In the blink of an eye I’m dead and gone, and then equally as quickly I’m tossed back out into the world of the living. Or at least it feels like it. I guess I am just too much for the spirit world to accommodate at the present time (yeah, probably never).
My eyes have already opened and adjusted to the brightness of daylight and the burning in my lungs upon my first breath in days has subsided. There is an audible snapping and creaking amidst the slumbering giants as cartilage and joints that had become flimsy and dislocated after days of disuse resume their functions. But they protest as they grind in their sockets; my movements stiff and almost robotic looking as I take a couple tentative steps away from my latest gravesite. Another notch in the bedpost, if you will. The latest line in the tally always seemed to be better than the one before. The pain, the blood, the sex…so disturbing, so morbid, so exquisite.
Whatever clarity that had been a side effect of my passing is quickly fading. Standing within the quiet of Sylva I wait upon crooked limbs, dried blood and mud caked onto my lackluster coat, as the gauzy veil slowly descends. The shadows grow longer around me and a wicked grin inclines upon the plain of face. They’re practically dancing for me, telling me with their body language that my worst fucking nightmare is still amongst them…plus some others.
A girlish giggle works its way to fruition—shattering the quiet. I fucking hate the quiet.
And I’m back for more, bitches.
My eyes have already opened and adjusted to the brightness of daylight and the burning in my lungs upon my first breath in days has subsided. There is an audible snapping and creaking amidst the slumbering giants as cartilage and joints that had become flimsy and dislocated after days of disuse resume their functions. But they protest as they grind in their sockets; my movements stiff and almost robotic looking as I take a couple tentative steps away from my latest gravesite. Another notch in the bedpost, if you will. The latest line in the tally always seemed to be better than the one before. The pain, the blood, the sex…so disturbing, so morbid, so exquisite.
Whatever clarity that had been a side effect of my passing is quickly fading. Standing within the quiet of Sylva I wait upon crooked limbs, dried blood and mud caked onto my lackluster coat, as the gauzy veil slowly descends. The shadows grow longer around me and a wicked grin inclines upon the plain of face. They’re practically dancing for me, telling me with their body language that my worst fucking nightmare is still amongst them…plus some others.
A girlish giggle works its way to fruition—shattering the quiet. I fucking hate the quiet.
And I’m back for more, bitches.
all this joy, I've got some to share
@[Modicum Mortem]