Captainqt
03-08-2008, 06:09 PM
I heard it in the wind...
I was twelve when my mom died. Well, she didn't die, but rather my old man shot her in the face with a twelve gauge shot gun. I am quite sure that it wasn't a pretty sight. I don't know because they wouldn't let me go in there. I was in my bedroom, which was directly across the hall from my parents room, when I heard the shot ring out. Honestly, it wasn't much of a ring at all. It was more like an enormous car crash on an interstate, the kind of accident where there are no witnesses and everybody dies feeling no pain. Anyway, that is sort of how this was. The only one that felt any pain was my dad I suppose, having to watch such a horror didn't go so well over with his mental state is what I mean. The 'officials' (what I have grown used to calling them) said that after he killed her, he immediately started choking. He just stopped breathing and passed out, went into a coma and has been there ever since. Poetic justice? Nah, I don't think so. It's just a ****ed up world with some even more ****ed up consequences. I don't know who hands out the sentences or whatever, and I am pretty sure I'll never find out, but whoever it is calls the shots and I am out of the equation.
It's been twenty seven years since then and to tell the truth, I rarely think about it. I went through a few years of therapy and the concensus was that I happened to handle that 'tragedy' (as they have grown used to calling it) pretty well. The weird part is that I never shed one tear over my mother's death (I mean murder {I mean 'tragedy'}). It's not that I didn't care about her, but I just saw it very clearly as being over. I grieved on some strange emotional level that I am not so sure I was aware of, but it did happen. Therefore, that theraputic process that they deemed so necessary to my recovery had its way with me. So I gave in eventually and called done done. I no longer walked around with my head down or with a sad expression, which was the extent of my physical characteristics of grief. I changed my outlook on life completely. By the time this started, I was closing in on my graduating High School. After that took place, I stopped visiting my dad in the hospital. Yes, I gave up on him. The doctors were always so pesimistic about it anyway, so why shouldn't I follow their lead? I saw no reason in adding to my situation, which wasn't bad by any account, but I just saw no need to have any thread into making it worse.
The years passed by and my life went with it. Not much to fill pages of a great biography with as a matter of fact. Probably couldn't fill a page with the useless bull**** I've accomplished in my years gone by. Never got married, never had kids, never really wanted a family in all honesty. I just wanted to move on, and everyday I would tell myself that. That theraputic garbage just stuck to my brain like peanut butter. I just couldn't scrape it off. Something kept whispering in my ear to shake it off. What? Shake off what? I am fine! I kept telling myself that, until one day it all just went numb. I became this emotionless creature of habit and routine. I was unable to love in any sort of worthwhile capacity that might attract a mate or even a friend for that matter. The things that I wanted in life had vanished out of my mind and had been replaced by this blanket of security born of the idea that everything could be disrupted by even one man or woman getting close enough to expose me. Expose me for what? Erase that thought. Things like that do not enter my mind. I am not paranoid and that word should never be mentioned in the same sentence as my name.
I just wanted to be normal and left alone. Then I could hear the quiet, the peace. Drown out that gun shot that has carried its tune through the wind of time and into my vision each time I close my eyes for even a minute.
I saw it in the sky...
I was always one to turn a blind eye and keep my mouth shut (If you knew what was good for you!). I didn't ever want to be invovled in conflict, but all of the time conflict would find me and no matter what I'd try it could not be avoided. I worked for about ten years at a commercial laundry. It was hot, dirty work that not too many people would care to do. That is why I opted to do it. I figured that this would probably be one of the best places to avoid the true human type that dwelt out in the streets of the real world. As it turns out, that wasn't really the case. Most of the time I was quite able to keep my distance from folks, but often they would just break the high walls I would fence up around myself. I would be constantly having to perform these reconstruction projects that would keep them all at there distance. All in all the job wasn't bad, but it didn't last forever.
I operated a large washing machine that was seperate from all of the other workers. On a Monday, yeah it was Monday because today is Wednesday, there was an accident. I don't want to go to therapy, but considering the outcome of the whole situation, it is not looking so good for me this time as far as getting out of it goes. Yeah well. Been there, done that. I was back in my area doing my job on Monday, two days ago that would be, and all was well. Not to say well as though it was good, but it was normal. Everything was going the way that it should. The laundry was getting done and people were staying away from me. A good day so far. I walked out of my area for just a minute to get some air because it got really damp and stuffy back there and that is when things got a bit twisted in my memory.
There was a faint smell coming from the bottom of the one drying machines out close to where all of the other workers would be. I couldn't tell what the smell was. After all, what am I , a chemist or something like that? No. I didn't really pay much attention to it. I just figured that it was something I didn't notice before and that is what I told myslef, and that is what I believed. I turned back around and just as I rounded the corner to my machine, the hose that the leak was coming from burst off and violently thrashed back and forth. I remember blinking very slowly, but then again it literally felt like everything around me was moving in unison with my shutting and reopening eye lids. Motion began to twist and mishapen all over the place. It was me, it was the air filling with gas and distorting what I was seeing. The hostile hose took a sudden turn and aimed itself at a giant flame underneath a drying machine. The slow motion that existed in that space and time dissappeared in an instant and my instinct to survive kicked in. I turned around and clumsily took cover underneath my machine.
An explosion. Back to slow motion. I looked up, because that was the only place to look. Everything was going up that way. The wall which was directly in front of me about three and a half feet in distnace was still there, but just about everything further out was up in the air now. I heard a scream distorted by the strange hiss of burning flesh. There were fifteen of them up in the air. Fifteen burning bodies that I could account for wailing and tearing at themselves in mid air. Nearly a hundred feet up I counted that as it seemed to me they were floating there. All of those people who tried to comfort me, but couldn't. They tried to get in and ease my pain, but I wouldn't let them. Now they are on fire a hundred feet above me and soon they will rain back down to my level dead and moved on. Me...back at square one. Such a ****ed up world we live in with some really ****ed up consequences.
I thought it was the end...
I've seen too much death now. But, what does it mean to me? Two days ago it broke me. I haven't cried but I want to. I can hear them screaming and I can feel the pain that their bodies sent through the nerves and to their brain. Three thousand degrees worth of flame digging into their skin and I am left without a bruise. Great for me. I guess that I can call that a victory. Here I am unable to grieve these people. Instead, I find myslef not giving a **** about their souls, but worrying about my own comfort above all. **** them and their families. Not a nice thought, but I never wanted to know these people. And if they wanted to know me, they shouldn have gotten the hint the first time I told them to go away from me and stay away from me. I shouldn't be thinking this way, but I do and I can't help it. I don't think it's my fault. My therapist always helped me agree with myself about my victimization.
Today is Wednesday and I am going to the hospital to shoot my dad in the face and end this pain. I am going to be the one to correct this ****ed up world. Now it is my turn to hand out the ****ed up consequence! He did all of that. He took my childhood from me and forced me to be this person. I had no choice in the matter. At that point, you can't just start over!
It's the end now and I am the one to bring it on.
(The date is 3 July, 1988...I think...but really, who gives a ****...)
I walked into the hospital room and that stench was still the same. I never could differentiate. Was that the smell of my hatred coming out my pores into the air or was it his smell. The smell of death, or in his case it was mostly almost death. I used to joke about that in my head sometimes, but then one day I stopped. I lifted my coat and pulled out the small 9mm hand gun that I always kept around. No one even saw me walk into the hospital, but I came in here with the assumed notion that they would be watching me escorted out. I had it all planned in my head, but not on paper. Never on paper. I would do it and wait, wait for a screaming nurse to come running in completely panicked. She would call the police and they would come in with guns. Maybe they would shoot to kill, and then again maybe not. I'll just rot behind some rusty bars for the rest of my life or fry in a chair. Whatever.
His face looked so sallow lying there before me. He looked like a lunatic. Half of his face was contorted into a smile while the other half was numb. I felt something on my cheek and I pushed my hand up, the one holding the gun, and wiped at it. It was wet. I was crying...over this man? Or was it over what I was about to do? Maybe I am happy? I stood there for almost ten minutes allowing myself to cry for whatever it was that I was crying for. The world seemed to stop in that moment and so did the tears. I stared at were his eyes lay hidden behind their lids.
Eyes wide, full of empty tears.
Dead man's eyes wide open...he opened his eyes and grunted...
What did he say?
I began to burst into tears and I quickly motioned the hand gun towards his forehead and let the hammer drop.
Dead man...
I killed him...I handed out the consequence...I died inside today...
THE END
I was twelve when my mom died. Well, she didn't die, but rather my old man shot her in the face with a twelve gauge shot gun. I am quite sure that it wasn't a pretty sight. I don't know because they wouldn't let me go in there. I was in my bedroom, which was directly across the hall from my parents room, when I heard the shot ring out. Honestly, it wasn't much of a ring at all. It was more like an enormous car crash on an interstate, the kind of accident where there are no witnesses and everybody dies feeling no pain. Anyway, that is sort of how this was. The only one that felt any pain was my dad I suppose, having to watch such a horror didn't go so well over with his mental state is what I mean. The 'officials' (what I have grown used to calling them) said that after he killed her, he immediately started choking. He just stopped breathing and passed out, went into a coma and has been there ever since. Poetic justice? Nah, I don't think so. It's just a ****ed up world with some even more ****ed up consequences. I don't know who hands out the sentences or whatever, and I am pretty sure I'll never find out, but whoever it is calls the shots and I am out of the equation.
It's been twenty seven years since then and to tell the truth, I rarely think about it. I went through a few years of therapy and the concensus was that I happened to handle that 'tragedy' (as they have grown used to calling it) pretty well. The weird part is that I never shed one tear over my mother's death (I mean murder {I mean 'tragedy'}). It's not that I didn't care about her, but I just saw it very clearly as being over. I grieved on some strange emotional level that I am not so sure I was aware of, but it did happen. Therefore, that theraputic process that they deemed so necessary to my recovery had its way with me. So I gave in eventually and called done done. I no longer walked around with my head down or with a sad expression, which was the extent of my physical characteristics of grief. I changed my outlook on life completely. By the time this started, I was closing in on my graduating High School. After that took place, I stopped visiting my dad in the hospital. Yes, I gave up on him. The doctors were always so pesimistic about it anyway, so why shouldn't I follow their lead? I saw no reason in adding to my situation, which wasn't bad by any account, but I just saw no need to have any thread into making it worse.
The years passed by and my life went with it. Not much to fill pages of a great biography with as a matter of fact. Probably couldn't fill a page with the useless bull**** I've accomplished in my years gone by. Never got married, never had kids, never really wanted a family in all honesty. I just wanted to move on, and everyday I would tell myself that. That theraputic garbage just stuck to my brain like peanut butter. I just couldn't scrape it off. Something kept whispering in my ear to shake it off. What? Shake off what? I am fine! I kept telling myself that, until one day it all just went numb. I became this emotionless creature of habit and routine. I was unable to love in any sort of worthwhile capacity that might attract a mate or even a friend for that matter. The things that I wanted in life had vanished out of my mind and had been replaced by this blanket of security born of the idea that everything could be disrupted by even one man or woman getting close enough to expose me. Expose me for what? Erase that thought. Things like that do not enter my mind. I am not paranoid and that word should never be mentioned in the same sentence as my name.
I just wanted to be normal and left alone. Then I could hear the quiet, the peace. Drown out that gun shot that has carried its tune through the wind of time and into my vision each time I close my eyes for even a minute.
I saw it in the sky...
I was always one to turn a blind eye and keep my mouth shut (If you knew what was good for you!). I didn't ever want to be invovled in conflict, but all of the time conflict would find me and no matter what I'd try it could not be avoided. I worked for about ten years at a commercial laundry. It was hot, dirty work that not too many people would care to do. That is why I opted to do it. I figured that this would probably be one of the best places to avoid the true human type that dwelt out in the streets of the real world. As it turns out, that wasn't really the case. Most of the time I was quite able to keep my distance from folks, but often they would just break the high walls I would fence up around myself. I would be constantly having to perform these reconstruction projects that would keep them all at there distance. All in all the job wasn't bad, but it didn't last forever.
I operated a large washing machine that was seperate from all of the other workers. On a Monday, yeah it was Monday because today is Wednesday, there was an accident. I don't want to go to therapy, but considering the outcome of the whole situation, it is not looking so good for me this time as far as getting out of it goes. Yeah well. Been there, done that. I was back in my area doing my job on Monday, two days ago that would be, and all was well. Not to say well as though it was good, but it was normal. Everything was going the way that it should. The laundry was getting done and people were staying away from me. A good day so far. I walked out of my area for just a minute to get some air because it got really damp and stuffy back there and that is when things got a bit twisted in my memory.
There was a faint smell coming from the bottom of the one drying machines out close to where all of the other workers would be. I couldn't tell what the smell was. After all, what am I , a chemist or something like that? No. I didn't really pay much attention to it. I just figured that it was something I didn't notice before and that is what I told myslef, and that is what I believed. I turned back around and just as I rounded the corner to my machine, the hose that the leak was coming from burst off and violently thrashed back and forth. I remember blinking very slowly, but then again it literally felt like everything around me was moving in unison with my shutting and reopening eye lids. Motion began to twist and mishapen all over the place. It was me, it was the air filling with gas and distorting what I was seeing. The hostile hose took a sudden turn and aimed itself at a giant flame underneath a drying machine. The slow motion that existed in that space and time dissappeared in an instant and my instinct to survive kicked in. I turned around and clumsily took cover underneath my machine.
An explosion. Back to slow motion. I looked up, because that was the only place to look. Everything was going up that way. The wall which was directly in front of me about three and a half feet in distnace was still there, but just about everything further out was up in the air now. I heard a scream distorted by the strange hiss of burning flesh. There were fifteen of them up in the air. Fifteen burning bodies that I could account for wailing and tearing at themselves in mid air. Nearly a hundred feet up I counted that as it seemed to me they were floating there. All of those people who tried to comfort me, but couldn't. They tried to get in and ease my pain, but I wouldn't let them. Now they are on fire a hundred feet above me and soon they will rain back down to my level dead and moved on. Me...back at square one. Such a ****ed up world we live in with some really ****ed up consequences.
I thought it was the end...
I've seen too much death now. But, what does it mean to me? Two days ago it broke me. I haven't cried but I want to. I can hear them screaming and I can feel the pain that their bodies sent through the nerves and to their brain. Three thousand degrees worth of flame digging into their skin and I am left without a bruise. Great for me. I guess that I can call that a victory. Here I am unable to grieve these people. Instead, I find myslef not giving a **** about their souls, but worrying about my own comfort above all. **** them and their families. Not a nice thought, but I never wanted to know these people. And if they wanted to know me, they shouldn have gotten the hint the first time I told them to go away from me and stay away from me. I shouldn't be thinking this way, but I do and I can't help it. I don't think it's my fault. My therapist always helped me agree with myself about my victimization.
Today is Wednesday and I am going to the hospital to shoot my dad in the face and end this pain. I am going to be the one to correct this ****ed up world. Now it is my turn to hand out the ****ed up consequence! He did all of that. He took my childhood from me and forced me to be this person. I had no choice in the matter. At that point, you can't just start over!
It's the end now and I am the one to bring it on.
(The date is 3 July, 1988...I think...but really, who gives a ****...)
I walked into the hospital room and that stench was still the same. I never could differentiate. Was that the smell of my hatred coming out my pores into the air or was it his smell. The smell of death, or in his case it was mostly almost death. I used to joke about that in my head sometimes, but then one day I stopped. I lifted my coat and pulled out the small 9mm hand gun that I always kept around. No one even saw me walk into the hospital, but I came in here with the assumed notion that they would be watching me escorted out. I had it all planned in my head, but not on paper. Never on paper. I would do it and wait, wait for a screaming nurse to come running in completely panicked. She would call the police and they would come in with guns. Maybe they would shoot to kill, and then again maybe not. I'll just rot behind some rusty bars for the rest of my life or fry in a chair. Whatever.
His face looked so sallow lying there before me. He looked like a lunatic. Half of his face was contorted into a smile while the other half was numb. I felt something on my cheek and I pushed my hand up, the one holding the gun, and wiped at it. It was wet. I was crying...over this man? Or was it over what I was about to do? Maybe I am happy? I stood there for almost ten minutes allowing myself to cry for whatever it was that I was crying for. The world seemed to stop in that moment and so did the tears. I stared at were his eyes lay hidden behind their lids.
Eyes wide, full of empty tears.
Dead man's eyes wide open...he opened his eyes and grunted...
What did he say?
I began to burst into tears and I quickly motioned the hand gun towards his forehead and let the hammer drop.
Dead man...
I killed him...I handed out the consequence...I died inside today...
THE END