Appropriate genres for this story (I could only put 2 in the thing, of
course): angst, humor, supernatural, romance, and drama.
*/*/*Intro: Most times, I really dislike criminal types, but I have a soft spot for Johnny. I don't know why. His story actually almost made me weep, reading through the whole thing once, taking a long look a broken, dispirited life where it's not exactly clear where it first began to shatter and crumble. Maybe it's because somehow, deep inside, I'm like Nny in a way. We all are in some small way. Take a look at a day when you've been depressed. I think we can all learn a lot from depression. So let's all just take a look at ourselves before we read this, look for the tormented homicidal maniac inside ourselves, try to relate to the characters, and then take a deep breath. Now settle down for a ride I'm about to take you on. One that starts with a single teardrop....
Prologue (a must read, since it's actually part of the story!):
The cold, blue, wet tear fell from his dark, forlorn eye and hit the dirty wooden floor softly. It made a tiny wet spot there. And that wasn't the only one. There were many wet spots, tiny wet spots, from comrade tears that had hit the floor a few minutes earlier. His shoulders shook with sobs, coming forth after so long of being locked away in his broken soul. He shed tears openly, knowing there was no one to stop him, to tell him to be a man. He wasn't even sure if he was a man anymore. What did you call someone who was broken, from his body to his heart and soul? His heart hadn't been shattered so extremely as the other parts of the dispirited young man so as to block out the pain that flooded him. He couldn't escape the pain. It had been there from the beginning, but he hadn't been able to feel it so definitely. Until this moment. His back slanted against the wall he sat adjacent to. He could feel no reason to stay alive much longer right now.
Slowly, trying to stall his tears, he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a sharp, glossy silver bladed knife. It glinted in the faint light creeping in through the cracks in the boarded up window. The room was bare as he looked around it for a last time. Then, halting his tears, he raised the knife over his own wrist...
Dragonfly:
***Jaded eyes. Seen too many things he'd give his life not to have seen. The pain. Shows when he opens them to the same old life, the same old bedroom walls. He keeps thinking. Is he broken like his heart has been, for so long he's prayed for something else.
Chorus: He's like a dragonfly. He wants to spread his wings and fly away from here. Wants to run away from this well-known fear. Wants to forget the pain of this life. He just wants someone to save his soul. Someone to shield him from the cold. Someone to hold him tight, so he won't be alone tonight.
His father shot himself, when his son was only thirteen. He had to clean his father's blood off of the walls. And that's not the only blood he's seen by far. He'll see so much more. He doesn't want to wake up sometimes. He prays to God to strike him down. To save him from this hell on earth.
Chorus
He wants it all to end before he hurts someone. His mother died, another bullet took away her breath. He cried. He doesn't want to end up like they did. He wants to be something, and yet nothing at all. He just wants to turn it off, before he kills himself, before he kills someone else. Something is poisoning his soul.
Chorus
He doesn't want to lose his mind. He wants to escape this pain. He wants to live but wants to die as well. His heart, his body mind and spirit being disillusioned by a force that's taking over his life. If it would go away he could save himself. But he doesn't know how to go from here.
Chorus
He lies, body broken as far as his heart. Bleeding, praying for another chance before he's wiped away. He wants to do something good. He wants to be like he should. But life is slipping away.
Chorus
He just wants someone...to save his soul.***
Chapter One:
He sat glumly on the understuffed sofa, the tears that had dried on his face making his skin stiff. He twitched his nose. His suicide attempt had not been successful. But he had a long, deep cut running from the very tip of his wrist to the top of his arm, three inches above his shoulder. It bled if he moved his arm too violently. He wasn't surprised about the failed suicide. It always failed. That was just as bad as dying. No, it was worse. He still couldn't figure out what kept him here, writhing in the flame of humanity. Johnny (this was the man's name) knew that the way he suffered couldn't be coincidence. He wasn't crying now. It went off and on. He felt a lot better. But that was only temporary, he knew it. But though he wasn't crying, he could still feel the strength of the sadness inside, like a venom surging through his body. It had gotten better. It was the most recent voice that was causing his suffering. The one who called himself the Bloodman. He was worse than the doughboys.
Bloodman didn't try to make Johnny kill, like the doughboys had. What he did was worse, much worse. He made Johnny realize the error of all he'd ever been, even before the homicide. He made Nny (that's Johnny's name) feel like he was little more than muck on the bottom of life's shoe. He pointed out every tiny fault of Johnny, poisoning him inside and out, making him be driven to tears of rage and realization. Prodding and poking at all of Nny's past sins, until he began to drive him even more insane.
"You're nothing, Johnny," Bloodman's sneering voice came through, searing and burning Nny's self-esteem.
"No I'm not! I'm something! I could be anything if it weren't for you! Leave me alone!" Nny said. And suddenly he felt his stomach twisting violently, and he heaved and threw up the small contents of his stomach onto the floorboards, and Bloodman laughed. This was the tenth time he'd thrown up in the past few days. He was exhausted, he was dehydrated, he was sick with depression. He couldn't take it anymore. And suddenly it all came together.
"You! You're doing this to me!" Nny screamed. Bloodman's voice said nothing, but Nny felt his stomach twist again and he began to dry-heave. "Stop!" Nny screamed when it stopped.
"Do not scream at me, Nny!" Bloodman screamed. And Nny got the dry-heaves again, the pain of his stomach gnawing at itself was unbearable. He moaned in pain. He could feel tears in his eyes again, but not from the pain. From the anger.
"Leave me alone!" Nny muttered, willing himself not to scream.
Bloodman laughed, and Nny felt pain searing intensely along his back, like knives slicing his skin. He screamed, and Bloodman laughed. Nny leaped up and ran. He smashed into the font door and it's rotting wood gave way. He ran down the steps. He ran farther and farther, trying to run away from everything. He ran until he could run no more, and he stopped, hands on his knees, panting for breath. He heard a chuckle. Bloodman.
"You cannot escape me so easily, you skinny faggot," Bloodman hissed. And Nny felt more pain. He began to dry heave, and the white hot pain spread through all of his veins. He began to cough up blood. And he began shaking, and fell to the ground as his knees gave way under him.
"Oh my-" screamed a passing woman. A crowd began to gather around Nny, who was having violent jerking spasms and coughing up yet more blood.
"I'm poisoning your every aspect, Nny! You will soon die! You cannot escape!" screamed Bloodman, but only Nny could hear.
"Stop it!!!!" he screamed. He writhed on the pavement, screaming in agony.
*/*/*Intro: Most times, I really dislike criminal types, but I have a soft spot for Johnny. I don't know why. His story actually almost made me weep, reading through the whole thing once, taking a long look a broken, dispirited life where it's not exactly clear where it first began to shatter and crumble. Maybe it's because somehow, deep inside, I'm like Nny in a way. We all are in some small way. Take a look at a day when you've been depressed. I think we can all learn a lot from depression. So let's all just take a look at ourselves before we read this, look for the tormented homicidal maniac inside ourselves, try to relate to the characters, and then take a deep breath. Now settle down for a ride I'm about to take you on. One that starts with a single teardrop....
Prologue (a must read, since it's actually part of the story!):
The cold, blue, wet tear fell from his dark, forlorn eye and hit the dirty wooden floor softly. It made a tiny wet spot there. And that wasn't the only one. There were many wet spots, tiny wet spots, from comrade tears that had hit the floor a few minutes earlier. His shoulders shook with sobs, coming forth after so long of being locked away in his broken soul. He shed tears openly, knowing there was no one to stop him, to tell him to be a man. He wasn't even sure if he was a man anymore. What did you call someone who was broken, from his body to his heart and soul? His heart hadn't been shattered so extremely as the other parts of the dispirited young man so as to block out the pain that flooded him. He couldn't escape the pain. It had been there from the beginning, but he hadn't been able to feel it so definitely. Until this moment. His back slanted against the wall he sat adjacent to. He could feel no reason to stay alive much longer right now.
Slowly, trying to stall his tears, he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a sharp, glossy silver bladed knife. It glinted in the faint light creeping in through the cracks in the boarded up window. The room was bare as he looked around it for a last time. Then, halting his tears, he raised the knife over his own wrist...
Dragonfly:
***Jaded eyes. Seen too many things he'd give his life not to have seen. The pain. Shows when he opens them to the same old life, the same old bedroom walls. He keeps thinking. Is he broken like his heart has been, for so long he's prayed for something else.
Chorus: He's like a dragonfly. He wants to spread his wings and fly away from here. Wants to run away from this well-known fear. Wants to forget the pain of this life. He just wants someone to save his soul. Someone to shield him from the cold. Someone to hold him tight, so he won't be alone tonight.
His father shot himself, when his son was only thirteen. He had to clean his father's blood off of the walls. And that's not the only blood he's seen by far. He'll see so much more. He doesn't want to wake up sometimes. He prays to God to strike him down. To save him from this hell on earth.
Chorus
He wants it all to end before he hurts someone. His mother died, another bullet took away her breath. He cried. He doesn't want to end up like they did. He wants to be something, and yet nothing at all. He just wants to turn it off, before he kills himself, before he kills someone else. Something is poisoning his soul.
Chorus
He doesn't want to lose his mind. He wants to escape this pain. He wants to live but wants to die as well. His heart, his body mind and spirit being disillusioned by a force that's taking over his life. If it would go away he could save himself. But he doesn't know how to go from here.
Chorus
He lies, body broken as far as his heart. Bleeding, praying for another chance before he's wiped away. He wants to do something good. He wants to be like he should. But life is slipping away.
Chorus
He just wants someone...to save his soul.***
Chapter One:
He sat glumly on the understuffed sofa, the tears that had dried on his face making his skin stiff. He twitched his nose. His suicide attempt had not been successful. But he had a long, deep cut running from the very tip of his wrist to the top of his arm, three inches above his shoulder. It bled if he moved his arm too violently. He wasn't surprised about the failed suicide. It always failed. That was just as bad as dying. No, it was worse. He still couldn't figure out what kept him here, writhing in the flame of humanity. Johnny (this was the man's name) knew that the way he suffered couldn't be coincidence. He wasn't crying now. It went off and on. He felt a lot better. But that was only temporary, he knew it. But though he wasn't crying, he could still feel the strength of the sadness inside, like a venom surging through his body. It had gotten better. It was the most recent voice that was causing his suffering. The one who called himself the Bloodman. He was worse than the doughboys.
Bloodman didn't try to make Johnny kill, like the doughboys had. What he did was worse, much worse. He made Johnny realize the error of all he'd ever been, even before the homicide. He made Nny (that's Johnny's name) feel like he was little more than muck on the bottom of life's shoe. He pointed out every tiny fault of Johnny, poisoning him inside and out, making him be driven to tears of rage and realization. Prodding and poking at all of Nny's past sins, until he began to drive him even more insane.
"You're nothing, Johnny," Bloodman's sneering voice came through, searing and burning Nny's self-esteem.
"No I'm not! I'm something! I could be anything if it weren't for you! Leave me alone!" Nny said. And suddenly he felt his stomach twisting violently, and he heaved and threw up the small contents of his stomach onto the floorboards, and Bloodman laughed. This was the tenth time he'd thrown up in the past few days. He was exhausted, he was dehydrated, he was sick with depression. He couldn't take it anymore. And suddenly it all came together.
"You! You're doing this to me!" Nny screamed. Bloodman's voice said nothing, but Nny felt his stomach twist again and he began to dry-heave. "Stop!" Nny screamed when it stopped.
"Do not scream at me, Nny!" Bloodman screamed. And Nny got the dry-heaves again, the pain of his stomach gnawing at itself was unbearable. He moaned in pain. He could feel tears in his eyes again, but not from the pain. From the anger.
"Leave me alone!" Nny muttered, willing himself not to scream.
Bloodman laughed, and Nny felt pain searing intensely along his back, like knives slicing his skin. He screamed, and Bloodman laughed. Nny leaped up and ran. He smashed into the font door and it's rotting wood gave way. He ran down the steps. He ran farther and farther, trying to run away from everything. He ran until he could run no more, and he stopped, hands on his knees, panting for breath. He heard a chuckle. Bloodman.
"You cannot escape me so easily, you skinny faggot," Bloodman hissed. And Nny felt more pain. He began to dry heave, and the white hot pain spread through all of his veins. He began to cough up blood. And he began shaking, and fell to the ground as his knees gave way under him.
"Oh my-" screamed a passing woman. A crowd began to gather around Nny, who was having violent jerking spasms and coughing up yet more blood.
"I'm poisoning your every aspect, Nny! You will soon die! You cannot escape!" screamed Bloodman, but only Nny could hear.
"Stop it!!!!" he screamed. He writhed on the pavement, screaming in agony.