Here's my writing, tell me if I suck!
Satisfaction. That is all you feel. The witch, lying on the floor, is dead. That's a victory. In your book. You hear voices, fragments of sentences filter in your ear.
"... pushed the button I don't know how many... Unconscious?"
"... dead. No... Phantom?"
"I'll... Don't worry."
"... punish him?"
"... dissect..."
How many people were in here, you wonder. The "doctor", Kyle, a couple others. One man is coming toward you, you and your ignited hands. Truly, sometimes you wonder the intelligence of these people.
Suddenly you're restrained from the back, the man was just a distraction! A new bracelet is placed on your charred wrist, you fight them just like the first day.
But this isn't like the first day.
No, on the first day you were fighting and wondering why Sam did it.
Now, a small part of you is wondering why you did it.
But you wouldn't have done it if Sam didn't. So, this must be her fault, right? All of this. All the pain she caused, all the hollow nights in your "room". Insomniac beginnings, for the only place you felt was in your dreams. The haunting images of Sam, your once beautiful angel, now your evil damner, attacking, like physical blows... to your one weak spot: Your open heart.
It was closed, until she opened it again.
That is why you did it. She made you feel. She made you live here for who knows how long.
No, not this place.
Your place.
Your mind.
Your poisoned mind. The crippling images of death, your death, are now plastered there with longing. You want it more than everything.
But why did she do it?
Why would she feel the impluse, like you feel to death, to betray? To leave you in the hands of people who want nothing more than your blood in their hands. No, you want your blood on their hands. You want your death on their hands.
That's different than suicidal.
You struggle as they bring you to the evil dissection room. Who invented dissection? Did they know it would be preformed on a fifteen year old boy? Who's once still, cold heart beats anew, with blood and feelings.
And doubts.
You scream. For the first time, in a long time, you scream. It feels good to scream. You are screaming not because of the current pain. Not completely. But for all the other times. The other times they scarred you. The other times they went inside you. Like they had the right. Like they owned you! You are no ones! You aren't even your own.
Now there is not only screams, but tears as well. But... why? Tears? They are foreign to you. They haven't skated upon your face for years now. Until a year ago, they were always close. Always a possiblity. But once you stopped feeling... products of emotions ceased as well. You have not laughed, nor cried, nor joked after that first week. You were a robot.
Now... Your "circuts" are replaced with veins. You have blood. You feel. As nightmarish as that sounds. You feel the transformation, like you own. You missed it. This one, this new one, is welcome. Change... Change is good.
You continue you screams, your fits. Anger welling up inside you, begging to get out again. Just as you did with Sam. How long has it been? Minutes? Seconds? Hours or days? Why is time unforgiving?
Why didn't he intervene?
Reasons untold.
Continuing your struggle is all you can manage. You have noticed the doctor has stopped cutting, due to your new found fire. He is yelling at you to stop. They all are. Stop before you harm youself.
Funny, they were harming you, you thought.
Your skin now burns with the fire that has been set by this people's words. Your complete outrage lends to more shouting and crying and stinging and screaming. Your mind, not broken, is aching. Your body, it yells and moans. Soon, what use to be accusitory words turn to hiccups and sobs. Your voice... nothing. They never listened to it.
Now reality is shattering, the glass of which it was made of careening toward the groung and your unprotected body. You scream as it turns to acid rain, burning away who you are. You feel the transformation.
The transformation isn't like it was at first.
The beginning was the opening. The beginning. Now, it is the Realization. You now realize what you have become.
Not who, what.
Not you, it.
But you try to refuse. You turn, fight against everything.
You are you.
Not an it.
You will fix it.
Out of that room, all anyone can hear is your strangled screams. That is the sound of death.
You have an unwanted audience. And her heart breaks at your distress.
And your sounds.
That is true nightmare.
i will never live up to the length of the first chapter, i fear. i hope i do! enjoy! buttons!