Well somehow you guys asked for another dark story (because not enough of you voted), which is really fine with me cuz back when I was that kind of writer I amassed something along the lines of 200 of these little stories…so I got plenty of ammo for it hahaha. Today Im off to get some minor work done then off to the bar, tomorrow I leave to go back to the mediocrity of normal life. the setting sun of this land will be etched in my mind forever as the one moment in life I didn’t think of how to get consensual sex without money involved. Enjoy the read guys:

His eyes were raining. I could feel the rolling misery as it slid down his nose, past his lips and landing finally in a dead despondency atop the upper slide of a sparkling semi-automatic. what could have possibly brought this poor sod to embrace his own end in this way? Why was he on his knees, exhibiting this lament…this trauma so overbearing the only way to end it was a bullet? I didn’t know…Id never know no matter how many times my eyes could bare witness to this scene. His whimpers pierced my soul and his shaking became my own, I felt his pain…his broken spirit…I adopted all his emotion and could barely breathe. It need not be said that I felt for this man, even thru all my confusion at the situation before me I still had the dire need to stop him…even if I didn’t know his reasons I knew them to be insufficient. I leaped, my movement seeming at fraction of nominal speeds. As I pushed thru my slow motion conquered universe my throat began to tighten and my glossy oculars widened. I saw it…his finger’s tendon drawn taut. I was maybe one more step from him when the brass split the back of his skull followed by an obedient trail of arterial spray, some of which was polite enough to kiss me as it passed. I think it took a few minutes to fully set in, there he lay limp in my arms, the demons in his head finally escaping in a waterfall of finality. I failed…he was gone…because I failed him. I began to cry, no I began to weep. My new-found remorse a dual setting. Sure I was broken that I could not save the man, but I was even more distraught to find out the man and I were one in the same. Imagine the fright, imagine the pure overwhelming anxiety, the most erratic profoundness found in the queerest of moments. My mind was ablaze with calculating punishment, the dead limp body that poured over my arms was myself. Before I could find what this all meant the room was in a spin cycle blur empowering the most unpleasant churning in my stomach until finally all spinning stopped…and the room was empty. In my hands, in lieu of a body, was a cold steel means to an end. I stared at this odd shift in positions for what seemed like an eternity, unable to piece together in any discernible motive what had brought me to this point. Slowly I brought the pistol closer to my sight as to ask the gun what it is that has passed and what will be, and most of all…why? The confusion sat in my skull so violently that I began to see all the regrets in my own life to justify this eerie sense of failure brought on by some unnameable phantom. As I rolled thru a mental slide show of all my wrongs I began to leak emotion from both of my eyes. Now pouring down my face in immeasurable quantities I looked at the fulcrum of said endeavors. Almost as easily as breathing I shoved the weapon’s barrel into my mouth. I didn’t know why, but I was dealt this immense amount of pain and more than not I felt the best way to rid me of this headache was a lead Advil traveling at 1200 feet per second thru my grey matter, it seemed so rudimentary that I was surprised it took me this long. I took a breath and pulled the trigger. Its to bad to, just as the hammer fell I happened to notice a chap running up behind me, no doubt trying to stop me, seems like he was only a moment to late, I pray he doesn’t live thru the same pain as I.

18 Apr This entry was written by CatastroFUCK and published on April 18, 2011 at 11:45 AM. It’s filed under Story Time and tagged big words, cry me a river, forever is a long time, ghost poop, guns, it's so friggin sad, stolen dreams. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.