| ShOrT StOrIeS PaGe OnE | |||||||||||||||||||
| Viscious Inheritance |
The loneliness that Moishe felt was a burden that he felt only he could bear. Such is the nature of all emotional baggage : Severe in times of turmoil, and even worse in the throes of ease and happiness. It was then that these bouts of savage inheritance visited him the most. Perhaps it just seemed so because human nature often blinds us in such that only the dramatic becomes the outstanding - and what could possibly be more so than the culmination of a lifetime of generations of loudmouth oral assassins......... Their words infectious with the toils of their lives. Their history - his history... His failures - their failures... His victories.... never his own. | ||||||||||||||||||
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The creak of old wood - grown moist in some parts from the constant humidity that assails and serves to dull the senses and suffocate the pores in my skin. The sound of It almost splinters Reality as the nausea rises from the recesses of my bowels... Boards groan in complaint and voice their fragility in a series of creaks and moans... Silence... the futile hope of release never to come. How my mind taunts me with dreams of broken routines, as, stripped of influence, my spirit begins to rise from the shackles of flesh, and dreams of foreign non-divergent realities...Only to hear the final release of an enormous weight - leaving its hidey-hole. The softness of air - sighing from the mattress as it stretches and smoothes itself vainly in an attempt to remove indelible creases and patches worn from the passage of presence and time. Fold after fold - stretching and sighing in broken unison. Straps fling out as reality notices my spirit leaving. Seeking-searching like some blind, mad, wounded animal that gnawed its limb from hunger for what it couldn't define - My spirit panics and struggles to leave... but the straps that bind find their mark with unerring precision to whip around my mouth; cover my eyes; pulling the head back into a ricotous deafening silence of alien screaming. It wraps around my limbs - this sinuous fatale lover - straining to touch every inch of my body with its snaking limbs...leaving only my chest exposed to heave and strain. My heart pounds and jerks, until one unceasing spasm flows into a series of smaller spasms - each weaker and more distant than its predecessor, until my spirit collapses to its knees - weeping silent streams. Curling foetally - shaking until once again it fades forgotten into the static, where it my be safely glimpsed. Each time more difficult to arouse. Forgotten. I think that eventually the futility will gnaw at it so, that it will never arise again, and dust will settle...fading to grey. | Misbegotten Restraint Part 1 | ||||||||||||||||||
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| Misbegotten Restraint Part 2 |
The first Scrapes. The clicking of metallic limbs, and the dragging of heavy broken flesh that follows. Clickety-Click-step-Drag. Clickety-Click-step-Drag. With purpose and malevolence, the creature begins its search. The clickety-clacking of its limbs and mandibles resound as it feels its way through narrow corridors built by its own hand when it was still young, hopeful and strong. Clickety-Click-step-Drag. Though it is a slow and wounded insect, it traps its victims with the sound of it's laboured approach - as cruel and efficient of any spider's web. No matter how the panic drives, my limbs find no will or motion. Clickety-Click-step-Drag. Clickety-Click-step-Drag. The clicking and clacking draws nearer. I can almost see its mandibles blindly touching the walls it passes - seeking scents, signs and evidence. Nearer and nearer until the sound of a million gnashing teeth deafens and crashes like a tidal wave... A veritable air-raid siren immersing me in the telling of doom to come, until I am drowned in this paralysis. Then quite suddenly : The Silence. The silence before the holocaust heralds the death of all meaningful sound. | ||||||||||||||||||
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