Mr.HallSack
05-21-2013, 04:12 AM
Ok, had a few too many glasses of wine last night and while emailing a friend I got off track and just started writing. Never written anything before really. not really my thing. When I read it this morning I was actually kinda wierded out a bit. Anyways, this looks like a good place to figure out what the heck came out of my tipsy mind and find some good reads too (first post). Here you go.....
The Dragon
I will never forget his face. A messy brown beard only a few inches short. His hair the same color and length. Pale skin, obviously hidden from the sun. Now his eyes. His giant tired brown eyes. I think these two masses of weakness and sadness are what I will truly never forget. What can I say? How can I explain them? I cannot. They just looked tired. It seemed he had lived and died a thousand times. They had a look that could tell many stories. Most of them, stories of sadness. Every movie poster and book cover could hold a picture of these eyes and the consumer would make their decision of purchase purely based on if they are in the mood for a sobby film or teary read. It saddened me. Someone this young should never look this empty.
I sat at the cold metal chair a few meters away from him and smiled. He did not smile back. That tired face simply stared. Our interview began.
"I know this is a request you may have been asked for many times before. And I understand seventeen years of incarceration may have hindered your memory of it all. But please, if you will, walk me though the events that took place that day. From the moment you awoke to the moment you fell asleep. Could you do that for me?"
"Yeah. That won't be a problem."
"Thank you. Please proceed when you're ready"
"Well... I remember it was a cold day. Very cold. My mother had me put on that same damn ugly, itchy sweater she always made me wear during that winter. I suppose looking back, it was a pretty warm piece of clothing. Not warm enough for this day though. It was freezing. I had to walk to school, shivering the whole way with my hands tucked in my armpits. I walked every day. Mom was still drunk from the night before so she couldn't drive me. Dad was dead. I didn't have any friends. So I would walk."
"How did your father pass away?"
"He killed himself. I found him in his room with a needle in is arm. I don't think it was on purpose but it was still suicide... Any other questions?"
"No, please proceed."
"Well... I walked to school. I arrived at the courtyard in front and sat on the bench nearest to the library, as I did every morning."
"You liked to read."
"I've always liked to read. I still do. Well... I sat on the bench eager for the doors to open, hoping I could find a decent read before classes started.
Most of that day is cloudy to me now. I have forgotten many things. What did I eat for breakfast? What was the name of the police officer that struck me uncontious? I do not know these things. However, the few minutes I will talk about to me are still very clear. As I sat at the bench looking down at my pigeon toed feet, hands freezing, I heard his voice. I don't remember his name. At least not his birth name. He had many names to me. 'The Fake one', 'The monster', 'Him', 'It'; these are the names I remember. He spoke to me in that same scratchy voice he always had. The funny thing is... I don't even remember what he said. I just remember feeling fire. Not on my person or near me, but inside me. I felt an egg hatch inside me. A Dragons egg. A fiery Dragon. For a few years the egg had been incubating. It was only a matter of time before it hatched. And it did. I just felt fire. I can't think of any other way to describe it. I got tunnel vision. All I saw were my feet buried in the snow. I lifted my head and the tunnel vision led to him. When my eyes found him my tunnel vision turned to tunnel mind. I don't even know if that describes it. It was kinda like having an empty mind. I heard nothing, I felt nothing, I could smell nothing. I just saw him, and the dragon took over."
"What does that mean? 'The Dragon took over'."
"I don't know. I left my body and mind and let the fiery beast inside me do the work. I stood up and walked towards him. My stance, my face, my emotions. I can't describe any of these things. Like I said, I don't remember. I just remember his face. The face of a monster.
He looked a little confused that I was advancing upon him. I never had before. I always let him have his way with me. But that look on his face disappeared when I fist met his ugly face. He fell to the floor instantly. I had made my point. I had shown victory and he wasn't going to bother me anymore."
"Then why did you continue?"
"Like I said, i'm innocent, don't you see? I wasn't at work, the Dragon was."
"Is the Dragon still with you?"
"Oh... I don't know. I suppose. But I think most of the Dragon died that day. Or maybe it had its fill. I don't know. But it won't be coming back anytime soon I think.
Well... He hit the floor with a wet sounding smack. I stood over him a second and watched his dumb face attempt to regain contiousness. The Dragon wouldn't allow it. I stomped on his head a few times until I heard a nasty crack. I felt satisfied. But the Dragon did not see blood. The Dragon wanted to see blood. So I knelt down with both my knees at either side of his chest and began to pound his face many times. The first one hit his nose, making another wet smack, and another to his right eye. And another. And another.
It was a strange feeling. Seeing none of the children around me but hearing them scream quietly and with echoes. All my mind could really focus on was his face and my fists. Again and again I pounded him. Each one producing a small amount of blood and a wet smack. And every few a sound of the cracking of bone.
Maybe ten. Maybe twenty punches passes and blood ran out of his face rapidly. I stood up feeling satisfied and started to feel reality coming back. But the Dragon was not satisfied. 'He might still be alive', The dragon told me. A split second of reality and fear came over me before the Dragon went back to work.
Again I knelt down above him and began thrusting my fists into face. Maybe ten maybe twenty more and my hand began to feel very wet. My empty tunnel mind looked to my hands and found them covered in blood. I chuckled a little and looked back at his face. It wasn't much of a face anymore. I had hit him so many times, most the bone of his skull and bones of his head were crushed and my blows had stared to push the skin and flesh of his face off and around his head. 'Just a few more', the Dragon told me. And so I continued. I stood up and began stomping on his head again. Maybe ten times. His head was flat and resembled ground beef. Lots of blood. Lots and lots of blood.
Then I blacked out. I guess all the other student ran and cried or watched with awe. None of the teachers came to his aid and a police officer that was near head the comotion and interfered by hitting me in the back of the head with his club. The rest of the day, like I said is cloudy to me. Talking to the police, my mother fighting for my safety, and bars that concealed me in a cell... I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry I'm not much of a talker and I don't remember much.
"That's fine. If you could go back and change anything would you?"
"Well... No. He had to die. And if not him then the Dragon would have killed someone else I think... I think I'm done talking. I need to rest now"
During the entire interview he expressed no emotion. No anger, no sadness, but most of all, no regret. I will never forget his face. No! Those eyes! Those tired eyes. I attempted to shake the mans hand but he simply continued to stare his empty stare. I packed my things and left. Maybe he is sane and uses the 'Dragon' as a cop-out to stay in this facility rather than prison. Maybe he is mad. I do not know. I do not care. But the talk of the dragon, the idea of the dragon, that I think, along with his tired eyes, I will remember forever. Perhaps nightmares they will bring. I do not know what else they could do for me.
The Dragon
I will never forget his face. A messy brown beard only a few inches short. His hair the same color and length. Pale skin, obviously hidden from the sun. Now his eyes. His giant tired brown eyes. I think these two masses of weakness and sadness are what I will truly never forget. What can I say? How can I explain them? I cannot. They just looked tired. It seemed he had lived and died a thousand times. They had a look that could tell many stories. Most of them, stories of sadness. Every movie poster and book cover could hold a picture of these eyes and the consumer would make their decision of purchase purely based on if they are in the mood for a sobby film or teary read. It saddened me. Someone this young should never look this empty.
I sat at the cold metal chair a few meters away from him and smiled. He did not smile back. That tired face simply stared. Our interview began.
"I know this is a request you may have been asked for many times before. And I understand seventeen years of incarceration may have hindered your memory of it all. But please, if you will, walk me though the events that took place that day. From the moment you awoke to the moment you fell asleep. Could you do that for me?"
"Yeah. That won't be a problem."
"Thank you. Please proceed when you're ready"
"Well... I remember it was a cold day. Very cold. My mother had me put on that same damn ugly, itchy sweater she always made me wear during that winter. I suppose looking back, it was a pretty warm piece of clothing. Not warm enough for this day though. It was freezing. I had to walk to school, shivering the whole way with my hands tucked in my armpits. I walked every day. Mom was still drunk from the night before so she couldn't drive me. Dad was dead. I didn't have any friends. So I would walk."
"How did your father pass away?"
"He killed himself. I found him in his room with a needle in is arm. I don't think it was on purpose but it was still suicide... Any other questions?"
"No, please proceed."
"Well... I walked to school. I arrived at the courtyard in front and sat on the bench nearest to the library, as I did every morning."
"You liked to read."
"I've always liked to read. I still do. Well... I sat on the bench eager for the doors to open, hoping I could find a decent read before classes started.
Most of that day is cloudy to me now. I have forgotten many things. What did I eat for breakfast? What was the name of the police officer that struck me uncontious? I do not know these things. However, the few minutes I will talk about to me are still very clear. As I sat at the bench looking down at my pigeon toed feet, hands freezing, I heard his voice. I don't remember his name. At least not his birth name. He had many names to me. 'The Fake one', 'The monster', 'Him', 'It'; these are the names I remember. He spoke to me in that same scratchy voice he always had. The funny thing is... I don't even remember what he said. I just remember feeling fire. Not on my person or near me, but inside me. I felt an egg hatch inside me. A Dragons egg. A fiery Dragon. For a few years the egg had been incubating. It was only a matter of time before it hatched. And it did. I just felt fire. I can't think of any other way to describe it. I got tunnel vision. All I saw were my feet buried in the snow. I lifted my head and the tunnel vision led to him. When my eyes found him my tunnel vision turned to tunnel mind. I don't even know if that describes it. It was kinda like having an empty mind. I heard nothing, I felt nothing, I could smell nothing. I just saw him, and the dragon took over."
"What does that mean? 'The Dragon took over'."
"I don't know. I left my body and mind and let the fiery beast inside me do the work. I stood up and walked towards him. My stance, my face, my emotions. I can't describe any of these things. Like I said, I don't remember. I just remember his face. The face of a monster.
He looked a little confused that I was advancing upon him. I never had before. I always let him have his way with me. But that look on his face disappeared when I fist met his ugly face. He fell to the floor instantly. I had made my point. I had shown victory and he wasn't going to bother me anymore."
"Then why did you continue?"
"Like I said, i'm innocent, don't you see? I wasn't at work, the Dragon was."
"Is the Dragon still with you?"
"Oh... I don't know. I suppose. But I think most of the Dragon died that day. Or maybe it had its fill. I don't know. But it won't be coming back anytime soon I think.
Well... He hit the floor with a wet sounding smack. I stood over him a second and watched his dumb face attempt to regain contiousness. The Dragon wouldn't allow it. I stomped on his head a few times until I heard a nasty crack. I felt satisfied. But the Dragon did not see blood. The Dragon wanted to see blood. So I knelt down with both my knees at either side of his chest and began to pound his face many times. The first one hit his nose, making another wet smack, and another to his right eye. And another. And another.
It was a strange feeling. Seeing none of the children around me but hearing them scream quietly and with echoes. All my mind could really focus on was his face and my fists. Again and again I pounded him. Each one producing a small amount of blood and a wet smack. And every few a sound of the cracking of bone.
Maybe ten. Maybe twenty punches passes and blood ran out of his face rapidly. I stood up feeling satisfied and started to feel reality coming back. But the Dragon was not satisfied. 'He might still be alive', The dragon told me. A split second of reality and fear came over me before the Dragon went back to work.
Again I knelt down above him and began thrusting my fists into face. Maybe ten maybe twenty more and my hand began to feel very wet. My empty tunnel mind looked to my hands and found them covered in blood. I chuckled a little and looked back at his face. It wasn't much of a face anymore. I had hit him so many times, most the bone of his skull and bones of his head were crushed and my blows had stared to push the skin and flesh of his face off and around his head. 'Just a few more', the Dragon told me. And so I continued. I stood up and began stomping on his head again. Maybe ten times. His head was flat and resembled ground beef. Lots of blood. Lots and lots of blood.
Then I blacked out. I guess all the other student ran and cried or watched with awe. None of the teachers came to his aid and a police officer that was near head the comotion and interfered by hitting me in the back of the head with his club. The rest of the day, like I said is cloudy to me. Talking to the police, my mother fighting for my safety, and bars that concealed me in a cell... I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry I'm not much of a talker and I don't remember much.
"That's fine. If you could go back and change anything would you?"
"Well... No. He had to die. And if not him then the Dragon would have killed someone else I think... I think I'm done talking. I need to rest now"
During the entire interview he expressed no emotion. No anger, no sadness, but most of all, no regret. I will never forget his face. No! Those eyes! Those tired eyes. I attempted to shake the mans hand but he simply continued to stare his empty stare. I packed my things and left. Maybe he is sane and uses the 'Dragon' as a cop-out to stay in this facility rather than prison. Maybe he is mad. I do not know. I do not care. But the talk of the dragon, the idea of the dragon, that I think, along with his tired eyes, I will remember forever. Perhaps nightmares they will bring. I do not know what else they could do for me.