The Zombie Tattoo
He awoke at five in the morning, his usual time. As he got up he could feel his skin tearing and beginning to bleed, the cuts he made the night prior to this morning were re-opening. Blood dripped from his arm to his lap as he sat on the edge of his bed, thinking bout how the day would go. Would it be the same painful experience as it is normally or would something happen and finally change. He clenches his fists on his lap, blood covered, the tears start coming out. No facial expression is seen as the tears fall from his face and mixes with still warm blood pooling on him. He looked as the tears dilute the blood and thought it was like a tranquil symbolism. Tears are positive sign of emotion and suffering, blood was a negitive sign of hateand fear. But as the two come together, they twist and mix to make a new whole. It's beauty in chaos. Fumbling through the dark of his room, he searches for the light. The floor is littered with trinkets and junk, pain shoots through him as he steps on something in the darkness. His hand brushes against the chain on the ceiling, he pulls on it and the room illuminates, blinding him momentarly. Still half asleep and disoriented, he makes his way through the basement to the bathroom at the back of the house. A cracked and shattered mirror hangs on the wall, dry blood spattered across it. Looking into the mirror, he can see death's reflection standing behind him. He turns on the tap and lets the water run warm, a handful of water splashes his face. As he wipes his face, his old make-up from the previous day starts running. The water in the sink was poluted with blood from his arms. Painful memories appeared in his brain, he fell down to the floor in the washroom, a burning feeling in his arm coursed through him. All the pain he's experienced flowed into him, laying on the floor he stayed there, tourtured by himself and so many others. The cuts across his living corpse ached and burned, their markings stained his skin forever, like a bad tattoo that can't be removed, a never ending pain he must live with forever. His body was near dead and his mind was rotting, plauged by voices and torment of so many. Crying alone, no one there to help him, only he can help himself right now. Twisting into a sitting position, he forces his body to get up, to continue on, no matter the amount of pain he's stronger than that. Wiping the tears, putting on a fake smile, and brushing his hair, he's ready to face another day. He acts happy and fine, he's but a zombie on the inside. No one knows the pain he truely suffers and carries.
- Friedrich Fyre