Shutting Down

Shutting down, closing down.

Everything is stopping, slowing. I can feel it happen before they can see it. My vision is clouded with images, outer worldly and my hearing stalls. Stomach acids are moving and filling the places they shouldn’t, sending waves across my body. Every muscle contracts uncontrollably. Oxygen is passed through every vein, every capillary, but I’m filling with the poison of the outside. My skin burns, itches and irritates until it bleeds.

Shutting down, turning off.

My body seems to be delaying the sweetness of unconsciousness, the utter bitterness of the cold blackness. It wants to hold me here in a painful embrace, holding me to grasp onto the life I no longer care about.

Shutting down, power cut.

Souls, trapped in the bodies of idiots stand, lifelessly trying to help the lifeless. They could do so much more, but they don’t, and I applaud them. Paper rain, and roses in the shapes of hearts showers me from the heartless loved ones. Maybe the heart shaped roses could replace mine? Maybe I would wake and see the world differently. Maybe, maybe. But maybe not.

Shutting down, zoning out.

Tick, tick, tick. But no tock. No clock makes a sound so sinister. The sound beats away in the darkness, beats away in the brighter days, beats away when all else has fallen to the floor. My whole body shudders with this sound. I lay, seemingly motionless, and watch as the sinister clock, counting down the seconds of life, trembles within my chest, like a monster, beating at the ribs to get out. Playing its musical number.

Shutting down, blacking out.

My throat tightens, cutting off golden breath and taste. Ice cold. Touches of something horrifying and sharp. Needles and pins prick the skin red. Drops of rubies, so precious, gone; mixed with the dust of the floor of the attic. Dust fogs up my lungs. I have been stored. Put away. Forgotten forever, like windows of the past we only ever take out once in a decade. I’m stuffed in a cardboard box, rotting away, decaying.

Shutting down, shutting down.

Gone.

If Only

The fierce, antagonising anger burned under my skin, so close to the surface, it was a wonder I didn't rip the hair from her head right then and there. It was another lecture-public bitch fest to my face I was forced to endure with a smile on my lips. Each word etched itself into my brain, digging its venomous self deeper and deeper. I wanted to scream so badly. I wanted to swear and to yell back, to show the world that I wasn't just going to sit here and let myself be degraded by someone who knew nothing of what she was talking about. it was infuriating! How could anyone be so selfish?

But I didn't say a word. I never do. I kept on a clam face, making it look like the dark, venomous words would drip off my skin like water on a ducks feathers, not peeling at my flesh and boiling my blood like it really was. Maybe that's why she never gave up on taunting me. Maybe she really believes that my front is as deep as it goes; that she hasn't broken me. She persists and digs deeper, hoping that one day all her hard work will finally pay off.

but I won't let that happen. The invisible tears run down my cheeks, drenching my collar, but I won't let them see it. i won't let them judge me with their piercing eyes and tongues as sharp as devils' horns.

"Your stupid if you think you can get away with this forever." The words were barely whispered from my tongue, but I let them sink in, a torment of the mind. I left her there, speechless, her stupid blue eyes, reeling back on what had happened. What had happened? I wasn't sure myself, but the blood of my enemy left under my nails told a different story. Bones crack like dry twigs and crumble to dust. How was I to know?

it was never held against me what I had done. the one who had never done anything to correct the wrongs in her life before has finally cracked; one big explosion in the brain that set of thousands of sparks and reactions until it was all one big nuclear war within the mind.

but I wish i could take it all back. I wish I could reverse the time. I wish I could control it all, but it's all out of our power isn't in? If only....

Two Weeks in Hell - pt 6

She ran at him with all the energy she had left, desperately hoping to throw him down. It was far too late to save him now, she realised. He was long gone from understanding what she did and why. She had to kill him too, like the others. She would regret doing it for only a little while, but then she would stop grieving and get on with her life, like she knew she had to. As for Molly, well, if she didn’t get to a hospital soon, she’d be dead. And no one would be home for another few hours. Problem solved. Travis was the only thing standing between her and escape.
Travis misjudged how strong she was and fell back to the floor from the impact, hitting his head on the glass table, shattering the top and knocking it over. He could barely see straight and his view of Demi above him was hazy. Demi didn’t know what she was doing, just going off what she could imagine Anastasia doing. An ongoing battle pulled within her, compelling her to strangle him and screaming at her to get off of him. She went for his neck, cutting off his airway. Travis battled to get away from her, but his head was dragging him down, disabling him from making any coordinated movement or use his strength. He couldn’t do much other than struggle and paw at her strong arms around his throat. He weakened and at one point he realised that he was going to die. When he had no energy to hold his arms up in an attempt of protest, they fell to his sides, landing on the shards of glass from the table, not that he noticed the shards piercing his skin. However, he did notice the tip of the knife. Against his hopelessness, he tried to grasp it. Maybe is would show her how close to death she came, he thought. She watched him struggle, watched him grasp for one last breath and watched him give in.
And it was so easy.
Of course it wasn’t easy leading up to that one moment, but just killing him – Travis, her love – was easy. Easier than expected. Too easy perhaps? remorse and guilt flooded her whole being. What had she done? What was she doing? She felt sick and instantly let go of Travis. Was it too late to save him? He wasn’t breathing and he didn’t move.
The voices had left her head. The horrible voice of Anastasia who had prompted her to murder Travis’ family; to murder an innocent child; to kill the man she loved. What had she become? Everything she had done and everything she had thought had happened all came rushing back to her, and she was drowning in her despair. The hollow look on his face made her weep.
“Travis?” she cried, pleading that he would breathe. And then she saw it. His chest rose ever so slightly, and his eyes moved in their sockets as he assessed the situation. A sudden joy welled up in her; but it was only momentary, because the next moment Travis had plunged the knife into her chest. She rolled off him, panicking and gasping in pain. She had never felt anything so painful in her life. Even the injuries she experienced in the past few days combined were dulled with the adrenaline and murderous thoughts and didn’t even compare. Her vision was fading fast, and she knew she had no hope. She would be gone in a matter of seconds. As the life fled from her body, her last sight was of Travis, kneeling above her, looking down with his eternal grief.