She was beautiful: glassy, white skin, lovely, long neck, and when they kissed, oh…. She was everything she ought to be. He had loved her with a passion- and for what? Had it given him satisfaction? Had his faithful pursuit given him some semblance of permission, some vague perception that happiness somehow lingered on the tip of her tongue and not in the recesses of her stomach, twisting his guts into a paradigm of disgusted pleasure at her intent? He wished- oh, how he wished- but it was in vain. He justified the worth of his tribulations- the love was pure, it was just, it was…it was…noble, honorable. There was nothing honorable in the way she would make him smile. There was nothing noble in the glow that seemed to emanate from her, an ostensible ocular deception.
He pleaded frantically, his voice hoarse with desperation, moaning the word please again and again, his voice growing more and more desperate with every plea, with every act promised, so eager to gratify. But the devil was used to repeat custom, and it had no need of his empty promises tonight. He said he'd do anything. He swore he would get the money by tomorrow— but the devil hoarded its treasure, so choice that it was carefully guarded, and for his devoutness he was rewarded a beating. Again and again the Furies lashed out the decree, ignoring his pleading, disregarding his promise to come back. He swore that he'd get the money, but they continued on the path of destroying him more than he ever could.
He lay there on the concrete, blood pouring from the cuts and holes in his body. He thought his holes would swallow him up and devour whatever part of him that was left.
He whispered the word no softly. "No..no..no," the empty needle seemed to whisper to him, again and again and again. "No, no, no," building up power until it was screaming, screaming in his ear, "No, No, NO!"
He was found there, several hours later, mumbling to the word no himself, over and over and over again- he couldn't seem to stop. They put him away, him scratching at them, scraping at the walls, clawing at his face, at the holes. He kept thinking about how much he hated the damn holes. And then, suddenly, one day there was- silence. Unbearably silent quiet. Painfully calm stillness. And he lifted his eyes, and whispered into the tranquility, "no."
This piece is an experiment in writing utilizing free indirect discourse. I used a little bit of direct discourse, but most of this piece is free indirect discourse. If you don't understand it, leave a review, and I can explain. I would appreciate any criticism or anything you have to say about it, so please review! Thanks for reading!
DFTBA,
Nyum Fwah Productions