1780

Blotted Ink with a Broken Quill

United States

13 years old.
In love with books.
Ranger's Apprentice. 1
Dawn of Wonder. 2
Wings of Fire. 3
Warriors. 4
Percy Jackson. 5

ENFP-T

Coldplay.
Beatles.

Guitarist.
Artist.
Screamer.
Lover.
Actor.

Join Date: September 12, 2018

Message to Readers

For-warning. This is quite gory.

Psychosis

November 7, 2018

FREE WRITING

1
Psychosis
I woke up in my bed, and it was early morning. I had a terrible dream. I was coming back from a concert and my car had ran out of gas. I had walked to a gas station, and two men had almost jumped me. Afterwards, a drunk driver had almost ran me over when I was crossing the street, and my entire side was scraped up. After I went to the gas station, my sister, who had died at six in a car crash, had come toward me and attacked me. It wouldn’t seem bad, but you know how it is. The odd part was that I had been to that concert last night. Still feeling tired, I closed my eyes again.
When I opened them I was at the gas station. My heartbeat became louder in my chest. I closed them again, and I woke up in my bed, sunlight coming through the curtains. I quickly walked over to the window. I looked down on the street below, and I saw two men. The same two men from the night before. I closed the window. My eyes closed.
    Open. There was nothing. It was as if my eyes were gone. At the end of my vision, I saw a car, the car that had almost crashed into me. It was heading straight for me, but this time, the driver wasn’t a man in his forties. It was my sister. Her hands weren’t on the wheel, but her entire body was shuddering and exuding an ugly crimson light, bleeding from her pores and sucking the life out of her once fragile face. I closed my eyes, hearing a screech of tire on asphalt.
I looked and she was gone. I felt my back pressed against a wall. I looked behind me; I was shackled to a stone wall. Quiet footsteps… Tap, tap, tap. The scraping of metal on metal. Screech. A black door opened, and out stepped a figure. A bone mask existed, and long, black robes lay on the floor. The mask was formed into a smile— a twisted, sadistic smile of a torturer. Then it began. An ebony table appeared. Many instruments were laid out.
First he took the saw. A simple piece of metal. He sawed for hours, and rivers of blood flowed. I screamed. My arms were transformed into bloody stumps by the time he was done… with the first part. Then he took a fire poker and stabbed bloody holes all through my body, which were instantly cauterized by the heat. Next went my eyes. He took a scalpel and pulled, letting out a manic rattling laugh. He squeezed and I heard them pop.
Before long, I was just a head. I wanted to die, but I couldn’t. I should have been dead, but I wasn’t. I realized then that this was no dream. This was my own mind, and I was trapped in the dark horrors of it.
It went dark, then I felt again. I was shackled. This time, he came in laughing a terrible laugh.
The next, he came in happy.
After that time, he came in with no emotion on that bone white face of his. And the next. And the next.
***
    “Good news!” Said the doctor.
    The couple was miserable, and one of them spoke out; it was the mother. “How can there be good news?”
    “We have figured a way to sustain him till a treatment comes out for his ailment,” The doctor replied in an optimistic voice.
    “At least it’s something,” the father of the patient said to his wife to try to make her feel better.
    “At least it’s something?” She mimicked. “At least it’s something?!” This time she yelled. “We just figured out our son has an unknown mental disease that could keep him trapped in a coma for the rest of our—and his—life! So no, it’s not something,” she said as she stomped out of the hospital. Her husband followed her to try to console her.
***
    My body didn’t starve.    
My world was blood. Hot, sticky, crimson blood. A metallic ringing of metal slowly shaving off layers of flesh, blood coming to the surface and pooling on the cold stone floor. Still no one hears my screams of agony, of my eyes being torn out day by day, second by second. No one hears them except me. No one but me and the man. The bone man with the black robes.
I don't know if this will be taken down or not, but I like it anyways. It probably will. 

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  • November 7, 2018 - 11:48am (Now Viewing)

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