we could be made for this
(wait and see.)
So I realized today while DEVASTATINGLY BORED AT WORK, I write a lot of crazy characters. Not crazy in the fun-loving happy kind of way, crazy in the syphilitic madness black outs kind of way. For pierian_springs I write Lovely and for my novel I write the man with the black hat. Both of whom are crazy, but in different ways. Lovely's madness is the violent rage black-outs type of thing, and the man with the black hat hears voices. So I thought it would probably be a good idea to take some time to actually write out their craziness. Here goes~!
Lovely's barefoot, sore and bleeding from her right heel. She limps, dragging the hurt limb behind herself, and leaves a trail of bloody footprints as she goes. Red scratches have clawed up her body, sharp gashes like hatchmarks on her pretty pale skin. Her dress, or what remains of it, is torn and muddy, and Lovely's hair is matted and tangled. She breathes in rhythmic, rasping time to the beat she counts out on her fingers one two three four five six as she rattles down the street. With a feverish, raw paranoia, Lovely glances jerkily around herself as if hunting for something.
"Red and white for blood cells," she whispers, like a chant, then gives a convulsing shudder and continues, "Red and white for wine."
Then she laughs without smiling, which turns into hysteric shrieks, and then into shallow, hyperventilating breaths, then deep, painful wheezes. Finally Lovely doubles over and retches, heaving up stomach acid because there's nothing left in her stomach. She gasps and sways on her feet for a moment, dizzy.
When Lovely finally does straighten, she fixes her eyes at some point in the distance only she can recognize, and places a hand over her heart, twitching to the same unending counts.
"Just a piece of meat, but it keeps the beat, oh yes."
Blink open your eyes.
That's the first step, that's always been the first step. Notice how the wind's worn away the felt on the brim of your hat where your thumb holds it. Then smile, bare your teeth, and take another drink.
With your eyes open, you can see the clinic across the street. You can see all the people going in, but none of the people going out. Funny, isn't it? Laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And then spit at the pedestrians walking by who have the common sense to avoid you as much as possible.
So I realized today while DEVASTATINGLY BORED AT WORK, I write a lot of crazy characters. Not crazy in the fun-loving happy kind of way, crazy in the syphilitic madness black outs kind of way. For pierian_springs I write Lovely and for my novel I write the man with the black hat. Both of whom are crazy, but in different ways. Lovely's madness is the violent rage black-outs type of thing, and the man with the black hat hears voices. So I thought it would probably be a good idea to take some time to actually write out their craziness. Here goes~!
Lovely's barefoot, sore and bleeding from her right heel. She limps, dragging the hurt limb behind herself, and leaves a trail of bloody footprints as she goes. Red scratches have clawed up her body, sharp gashes like hatchmarks on her pretty pale skin. Her dress, or what remains of it, is torn and muddy, and Lovely's hair is matted and tangled. She breathes in rhythmic, rasping time to the beat she counts out on her fingers one two three four five six as she rattles down the street. With a feverish, raw paranoia, Lovely glances jerkily around herself as if hunting for something.
"Red and white for blood cells," she whispers, like a chant, then gives a convulsing shudder and continues, "Red and white for wine."
Then she laughs without smiling, which turns into hysteric shrieks, and then into shallow, hyperventilating breaths, then deep, painful wheezes. Finally Lovely doubles over and retches, heaving up stomach acid because there's nothing left in her stomach. She gasps and sways on her feet for a moment, dizzy.
When Lovely finally does straighten, she fixes her eyes at some point in the distance only she can recognize, and places a hand over her heart, twitching to the same unending counts.
"Just a piece of meat, but it keeps the beat, oh yes."
Blink open your eyes.
That's the first step, that's always been the first step. Notice how the wind's worn away the felt on the brim of your hat where your thumb holds it. Then smile, bare your teeth, and take another drink.
With your eyes open, you can see the clinic across the street. You can see all the people going in, but none of the people going out. Funny, isn't it? Laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And then spit at the pedestrians walking by who have the common sense to avoid you as much as possible.