Dave was not always a smart man, nor a good one. he had tried with what little willpower his life had supplied and trudged on through life without much else but a side wards glance into the why's. slowly living on through his days, until that day where his days had ran out of days. Dave glancing back, seeing the amount he had missed, pleaded with death, day and night, although those concepts bear little meaning once taken to an infinite void of nothingness, but that stands besides the point. the point being death is a fickle creature, and an easily bored one, having done his job for eternity times over, he struck a bargain with Dave. he would have a chance to live throughout life once more, if, he made things interesting, although death being an omnipotent being in this little writing meant he knew exactly where such an act was to go, how it was to play and the outcomes of such. lucky him, as this writer had little less than a clue.
waking, spluttering to life after what felt like an eternity of sleep, he rises, coughing the cobwebs out of his lungs, dust caking every part of his being. obnoxious sunlight breaking him from his restless sleep, hoping for it to go away, allow him to slumber for that small part longer. but he couldn't, so he did the same as the other sleepless, clambering to his feet, practically still asleep, stumbling some clothes onto his limp form, falling down stairs to the one place of salvation, a pile of ashes, mixed with water to form whatever drug your addled brain needs.
he held the mug to his nose, the handle burning in his grip. too warm to drink, not that he cared. the best part was not the drink, but the scent. the cool warmth as it infects your nostrils, spreading through, rising towards his brain. his body drew cold, his brain flickered alive, empty thoughts blasting with ecstasy, his eyes watering slightly. the feeling passed, he wondered if he was addicted, where the line from voluntary past time turns to obsession. it seemed to him as though his head required it, a barren void until something flickers on the lamp. this socially accepted drug gave your mind over much earlier than it gave your body, a drug so addictive it was made commonplace, given to children for a lifewhile of debt. willingly paying to take your functions, become an addled slave to a machine you little knew existed. yet it continued, no great revolution, and why should there be? this was a simple world and how it worked. but this, this one was different. he had read, or maybe imagined at a time, that the only true thing of confirmed existence was your imagination, anything seen, anything, was at some point imagined. at some point was little more than someone's thought, a dream. he thought all this as he continued to drink.
and now he was out, and his body shuddered at the thought, the cold seeping in as the shakes began again.
time had passed like any other day, time unfairly progressing while simultaneously merging. days and weeks blurring as time continued to pass. with silenced screams begging for it to cease, if only for the second, enough time for one thought to pass without time. sat in a perfect moment.
"am i scaring you? not supposed to be, but, different strokes i suppose" he remarked, she continued looking at him oddly, he grew in discomfort, "eh, right..." there was an awkward silence, he looked away rubbing the back of his neck, the start of a blush formed before being interrupted by his eyes skewing, "the fuck was that" he thought, the words did not follow. in the distance a brief light had flashed, shapes had formed, but quickly vanished, reforming in an instant before vanishing again, his brain desperately filling in the blanks. she tilted her head, "what the hell was he looking at". her eyes followed his, landing on an old building a good walk away, she saw nothing peculiar, looking back at him, he was pale, paler than usual. his eyes had gaunted, he looked visibly shakened. yet she glanced back and still nothing. the only oddity she saw was him.
The day was warm today, that did nothing but continue to rot his flesh in a faster manner than usual. being undead had its perks, rotting flesh was not one of them. for now, he was still okay to wander the streets, as long as no one noticed the smell, not that he did, a lack of bodily functions was a weird agustment to make, but Dave managed. it was quite literally this or nothing. being dead put many things in perspective for him, after all, the act of crawling out of your own grave tends not be very forgettable, the seeming lack of emotions he felt was ofputting at first, or, moreover a lack of hormones. his moral compass still existed, but it felt looser, he no longer felt aversion, disgust, anger. love. in essence, unbias. pure, unfiltered unbias. he felt he could see more clearly than he ever has. but he felt empty, as if a great part of him was missing. this feeling quickly fled when the last of his hormones and blood dried up.
his chest ached, not in the usual sense. this was, this was something different. he felt repulsed in himself, and scared beyond knowledge, but most of all he felt tired, tired of this. he just wanted sleep, unending sleep. to be left to his demented thoughts for an eternity. he knew not what made him feel like this, but he knew what kept him there, the world of the living, if only for a brief time, ties to people, to the living, obligations and courtesy. staying not for himself but for others, sat with such a low outlook on his decaying form the last thing he wanted to do was be a burden, he just wanted people to live their lives as he faded into obscurity, as his memory was forgotten he would finally seep into nothing. yet this angered him, he thought this was what he wanted, what he should have wanted, but part of him wanted to go out kicking and screaming. dragging those down with him, to share his pain. if only for a little while, if only for a minute someone could truly understand his perspective. yet all this was fruitless; as this writer knew. his fate was already sealed, death was a certain, the point after was that of importance.
he wanted to cry, for he knew not why.
the ancient times had left him to die
i was resting against her arm, a leech, draining her from her life, eating away mindlessly, greedily, working, unknowingly to save her life and driving me closer to the end of my own. but the bittersweet she gave, the immense feelings of this is the right thing, the right place, the right time. and i continued draining, each time the feelings growing in intensity, draining out the bad blood, the wrong, the infection. an immeasurable object interrupted us, separating us, giving me the first glimpse into just what it was i was doing, the surgical room, the intense feelings little more than a planned encounter, something that gave me so much pleasure, so much joy, was part of a plan where i die at the end, she looked down at me in disgust, aversion. complete and utter distain, her face, the one of disgust was the last one i saw before being thrust once again into the dark, this time surrounded by the decaying corpses of my brethren in this tomb of plastic. dave rose from his sleep restless, the dream before him so vivid, yet so clear.
"what is this? how can you even identify the line between you and your mask? your a dick, but. you don't mean to be, the endless sarcasm, the regrets. what part is delusion what part you, what part who people expect you to be, but. they don't, they don't expect you to be anything, these are self-imposed. useless, un-grounded. complete and utter disillusion between you and reality. when your life falls down and you accept everything to be of an equal probability the only thing you're left with is delusion and paranoia. and even then, is that you. or is that the mask. did you die years ago, was it consumed by the mask, the chance of normality swept away by the meaningless. or maybe no mask. maybe its just you, putting up a charade trying to excuse your shitty behaviour and insanity's. when your basis for reality is broken, both would be just as plausible.
"YOUR FUCKING DELUSIONAL" the cold sept in, the sadness that lied underneath, yet the rage was more present, the confusion, the anguish.
"YOU'D THROW AWAWY EVERYTHING WE ARE, EVERYTHING WE WERE OVER ONE!... one, just, fucking, one mistake, one error in judgement apart... no, NO, IT WASNT, IT WASNT AN ERROR IN JUDEGEMENT, I DID ONE FUCKING THING, BECASUE I WANTED TOO. WHERE IN THAT DOES THE ERROR LIE?!" the cold set in deeper, the sombre tone of the soul seeping in. the rage was gone, now there was just cold and misery. and yet; a smirk, crossed my face, the faint hint of a smile. to see such disillusion, it mirrored mine and with that i laughed. i laughed. the cold still there, the misery, yet the absurdity, the sheer madness of such an act. i couldn't help but laugh, laugh like a hysteric, screaming to the heavens for some form of release, for this miserable joy ride to let me off and the absurdity to stop,for just. once.
there's a lot of brain static he realised, meaningless garble mixed in with the relevant and important, white noise to confuse and disorientate. he regretted that it was there, and was ashamed of the things he produced. yet he continued. he little cared. dave simply truged on through life with little less than a care, and that was his downfall.
a film played in his mind, a small heart jumping out of the door in his chest, the creaking and the splinters rubbing into his flesh shaking his core. and then the heart fell. and he wondered if he would catch it before his body shuts down, or if they would both die here, his heart looking at him with sorrowed yet content eyes. his own long since left him.
his chest expanded, warmth radiated from it, the heart. for whichever reason jumped back into his decaying body, the door slamming shut behind it. his body didnt know how to react, to jump, cry, plead, be angry. to just, be there. with this his chest expanded, and kept expanding, until he felt fit to burst. and the smallest motion would cause that.
tedium; the killer of the modern age. as of this writing dave had exerienced a fair share of deaths tedium.
the sky turns orange tonight, my eyes being sore from the world, looking up through the stunted glass and beyond the concrete walls. and the night sky is orange with pollution, a dry dark with the hint of color. the slight splash makes it seem all the more unnatural. this artificial pollution cursed upon a cursed landscape, infecting even that deemed unreachable by man for so long.
"treat someone like an animal long enough eventually they'll start acting like one" Dave like this line, it described his life, or what was his life, now his un-life. through his living existence he had always been pushed into rolls, pushed into being, the push and pull of existence with much more push than he would of liked, whether this be from genetics, people, circumstance, you are never given the opportunity to form and develop into what you truly want. and then you die. with the lucky staying dead.