This is just a poem of an idea for a story I'm planning to make. |
Wednesday, June 06, 2007 Michael Prates "Morning of Demise" A ray of light hits my eyes, and begins my morning of demise. I sit up in my messy bed, without a thought in my head. Staring blankly at the floor, I see something which I abhor. I grind my teeth at its sight, and tip my night table out of spite. Sliding from a tangled sheet, I rise up onto my feet. Deprived of my daily doze, I throw on some dirty clothes. Scrabbling down a flight of stairs, I am hit by the sun's flares. Blinded by the intense light, Keeping vision was now a fight. Continuing into a small disarrayed canteen, messy countertops reveal where father had been. This kitchen was rather crude, for it contained more dirt than food. Searching the cupboard for a plate, I once again spot what I hate. I hurled the plate across the room, to see it smash beside the broom. I quickly swept up the broken glass, so that father would be able to pass. When I moved my hand from the shade, I noticed a cut which the glass had made. What was once a spec of blood, has turned into a crimson flood. When I rinsed the blood shed, the water instantly turned red. I lifted my head just a crack, to see my hideous reflection staring back. I grit my teeth and clenched my fists, it's repulsive face hidden by cysts. I struck the mirror with all my might, as if I was forced to fight. The mirror shattered as a fine red mist, sprayed out from my constricting fist. The white wall was now tainted red, I guess the anger got to my head. Overwhelmed with rage I began to shout, turning the bathroom inside out. I took the stairs up into my room, hoping this would be over soon. I crawled under my covers and shut my eyes, preparing for another morning of demise. |