Ascension of the Spirit.
Part 1
By Hellhoundess
Dedicated to EchidnaHazard, AKA Theo
The darkness and silence were brothers, born of the same deranged parent that had locked him in solitude, in a creaking shack like a large coffin. Yes, a coffin. he had been buried alive. Sweat crept from his hairline as he presisted the urge to scramble for the moth eaten curtains and jerk them away to make sure dirt and wriggling earthworms were not preessed against the cracked windows struggling to get in...
He traced a finger tip over the razor sharp edge of one knife, dimly aware if the pain. pain was good. It grounded him thinnly to this reality, which, despite how revolting it was, must surely be better than the alternate world he was spiraling towards. The one the voices whispered about. Yet he knew he was slowly being dragged like a hysterical child, kicking and screaming, digging his nails into the floor in a futile attempt to anchor himself until they broke off at the quick. The decent into further darkness was inevitable.
Leaning back his head bumped against one wall as he shut his eyes then openned them a moment later when he turned to meet the lifeless gaze of a petite blond. She was...that is to say had been...in her mid-twenties or so but then he was a poor judge of age and currently affixed as she was to the wall by way of a barbacue tong driven through her neck her age was of little concern.par
Silence hadn't been as issue when she was alive. Infact she had created an almost unbelievable ruckus with her blubbering half unintelligible pleas for mercy mixed with a good portion of shrieks, earsplitting sounds so harsh and raw that the men she'd practiced her breathy seductive coos on would have never believed it her to be the same woman. But then that's all they were, all of them, liars, deceivers, fools so disgusted with life and even with themselves that they didn't realize it.
Pitiful really. However his pity of their lack of enlightenment did little to ease the desire to cut them all to bits and hack them to pieces. He twitched uneasily. Even the doughboys, usually so full of suggestions, seemed absent tonight. He glanced at the corpse again half expectantly, wishing her slack mouth would issue forth some sort of sound even if it was just to curse him again. Suddenly he decide he couldn't stand, couldn't bare a moment more of the quiet. It was far from peaceful. It was...anxious, anticipant, crackling with nervous energy as if fortelling something important would happen tonight. But what could that be?
Shaking the feeling off he got to his feet, the loose floorboards creaking under his tall black boots. Even that was an inprovement. Feeling somewhat better he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his pants and strolled out. It had rained recently, the dampness still hanging in the late October air. As he passed a puddle his dark eyes were drawn to the stagnant pool of water. Haggard face, sunken eyes, death pale skin. At least his unruly raven hair had finally grown back. He didn't consider it much of an improvement really, it was only decoration on what he viewed to be a hollow, tormented shell. Yet like always he was tempted to kneel, to try and touch the other him on the opposite side of the reflection. His long thin fingers broke the surface in a choas of ripples and he sighed. He was truely alone as always...