Short story that may become a novel at a later date. |
Forgotten By Chrisp In a voice of torment she screamed;” I hate you, go to hell”! These where the only words she could speak, her body shook with such anger, screams were the only voice she had. The mental anguish quickly became physical violence, Deidre began the all too well known game of seek and destroy. She killed them one by one with no sense of remorse; after all, their entire destiny was to die the same death, always the same death. She felt no reason to spare their lives. After all they where the embodiment of what was wrong in her world, delicate, dainty, innocent creatures, no brains, and no voice. Deidre had both, but no one listened, what ever she had to say was nothing more than the crazy ramblings of a teenager. When there where things to know she knew them. When there where things to see she saw them. The last figurine was smashed on the floor, forever released from its frozen pose. Deidre gained no particular joy in smashing tiny glass objects; they could not satiate her need for blood. Her eyes scanned the room for another object of destruction; the lifeless book bag had weight and size. She could inflict some major damage with an object this large. Spinning in a circle Deidre swing the book bag with such force, as she released the bag her body was propelled forward through the open closet door. She shoved her arms forward to break her fall against the solid plaster walls, with uncoerced ease the wall open into small dark room. A drop of two steps lay before her. The floor jump forward to welcome her arrival as suffocating cloud dust and dirt rose to greet her. Blood trickled into her mouth through the broken skin of her upper lip. Fury swarmed though her body as if being stung by One hundred angry bees. Deidre’s mind could not seem to contain the violence flowing out of her body. The of pain as she rose to her bloody knees The Ivory handle of her Grandfathers pistol beckoned from its cracked leather holster; hanging from a rusty nail it seemed to float in the air, as if it didn’t have a care in the world. Deidre eyes glowed red hot as her stare fixated on the offering before her. No guts, no Glory, and Glory was just an arms length away, no more pain and suffering. Escape was firmly planted in her hand, the incredible force, the overwhelming power of a gun. The voice boomed in her head, “Pull the trigger, the time has come.” she never ignored the voice. A sweaty blood stained hand finger slipped inside the trigger guard of the gun, as the voice recited poetry; Dignity Dignity in death No Dignity in death There is no Dignity in death There is No Dignity in death, except a death with dignity. Bam! The sound was only in her head as the gun lay silent in her hand, helpless as a lamb. The voice began to laugh. “You can even do that right, silly girl; guns don’t work until you put bullets in them.” |