My story so far, it has much more to be added
Empty
She entered the room and it went silent. She was becoming used to this occurence, wherever her eyes laid she saw nothing but blood splatters suggestive
of short lived slaughter. Anymore she wondered if it was her that caused it somehow, or if it was in her head... there was no way of learning of it, no one around to
ask and nothing but stagnant empty buildings filleld with mildew. She could stay in any one she pleases, but the larger ones made her feel insecure so she stuck
to the cramped places she would be stuck in if there was anyone around to give rent to.
No bodies, yet so much blood. If it weren't for the streaks and splats telling tales of bodies being dragged and slashed about with little regard for
composition she could rest easier believing one day it simply rained blood. It must have rained blood and everyone up and moved in the day while she was
sleeping. She ended up finding solace in not having to deal with anyone at first, believing that she would inevitably feel alone whether people were roaming
around or not. True, she felt just as alone with no one as she did with the half million average automaton population she rarely interacted with.
She hated the sound of her voice, and it being the only one in an empty city with no electricity to escape into a song, she found herself silent. Silence was
all that could be found. She'd wished for such silence all her life, and now that it had finally come she found a grin spreading across her face. A kind observer
might call it a sly spreading of the lips. An honest one would call it a wicked expression of contempt of sudden satisfaction with existence.
In the distance piles of embers still smoldered. A pungent stench of charred flesh wafted through her barren streets in the early morning. Every evening.
There was no escape from it. It had become her alarm clock, forcing her to wake and roam through the cloak of darkness; one of the only things that made her
happy before her sudden stroke of luck. Staying alive was no dilemma, with open reign of every store. No doors remained on any place with sliding welcome
doors, she had pryed them all off and made a greenhouse in front of city hall, in which now grew numerous strains of psychedellic plants. The greenhouse idea
came after the doors had been piled, it was necessary to remove them when the power went out.
She found herself thinking about the electricity, it had blacked out several days after all the people made that horrible smell in their mass graves. It would
be at least a day's journey to satisfy her morbid curiosity, to see the piles. How many days had passed? Enough time to not care anymore, that much was
established. Thoughts of finding her way out of the shelter of her skyscrapers in search of human contact only entered her darkest dreams. In this city she claimed
as her own she could be as complacent and unproductive as she wanted. No more drafting of tunnels and missles. No more write ups describing exactly how
many stairs led into each silo. No more architecture of death at all. Seems everyone took care of that on their own, without her diligent help.
Complacency wore off. Base jumping off whatever she cared to kicked in. Plenty of chutes laying around in the storerooms at her work. Insanity, always
insanity. The gleeful drugged up don't care about life anymore so you can finally enjoy it kind. Followed by deep weeks of depression, a chemical misfire she
accepted as such and felt terrible through a third of the time. Her manic state had flip flopped with the depressed one, all she needed was an unexplained
removal of all the strain and paranoia caused by too many humans brings.
Swan Dive
A tree whispered longings for sanity to a stero playing off a car battery. She had voices again, though these empty shells of feeling spat out at the world
offered her little relief. Her clothes were becoming increasingly what would have been unaccepted as work uniform. Her camoflage was torn into a bizarre
miniskirt with a parachute cord wrapped around it for a belt. She was about to jump again.
Nothing better than a swan dive into the asphalt. Maybe she wouldn't pull the cord this time, it would make this realization pulsing through her head
bearable. It would make it better than bareable.
It would make it gone. There was nothing left to upset her but she still wanted to be gone, gone and no worries. Having a suicidal instinct helps one live
better, rather than worrying about little things there is one consolidated worry. That of death.
She did it. She made the piles, she charred the bodies, a month long liuau. And the regret: Exactly none. She would do it again, this aspect of mass
murder was the least facet of the diamond of self hatred that blinded her in its never ending reflection. What bothered her was the loneliness. It must be what
pained her, so she thought as a sharp tug pulled her straight up ten feet from the ground.
A draft catches, her body suddenly careening through a now shattered pane of her greenhouse. Shit There was more glass stacked at the back of her garden, but the mess she made
was going to be a bitch to clean up. Bell's clothes had become slightly more torn, one gash in particular on her shoulder now produced a trickle of red that was already reaching her
waist. She was lying on a crime scene, almost every tile of sidewalk was one. Her body laid splayed on the cracked sidewalk, broken glass spread out from her like a halo. It was just a
bad landing, most the blood wasn't hers. Most of it that was spurted from her arm, around the elbow. Nothing had been broken yet on any one of her jumps. Bell's paratrooper classes
actually ended up paying off. As soon as her drafting skills had been discovered she had no chance of getting what she signed up for, no dramatic scenes of descending upon people she
had never met and getting some good killing in. Maybe that's why she snapped, she needed an outlet for her aggression or she would bloody well go insane.
Greenhouse Results
Dreaded hair flies past attached to some reptillian creature. She was in a ballroom dance hall, filled with things that could not exist. Vermillion Spikes sprung from the ceiling,
each shedding a single drop of green liquid which shattered on the floor. This is what she lived for, harvest time. Her green house had paid off and now the world was a swirl of colors,
almost worth living in. The numbing agents from the plant she had just eaten helped dull the pain she still suffered from her mishap with the greenhouse.
The Bin
Three years earlier.
She is 23 and hating life. Enough that she tried to end it and found herself trapped in a padded blue room somewhere in the middle of an overpopulated
city. Gauze covers her legs and arms, faint red stains create a pattern not unlike that of a drunkard's spilt wine across an expensive white carpet.
Memories can be enough to live on
She tried to convince herself staring through thick scratched plexiglass. A whir from the camera in the corner of the room gave her another annoying
reminder of reality. The girl liked small rooms, had found comfort in locking herself in the bathroom when she was little. This room would be complete heaven if she only had
the option of leaving, she probably wouldn't except out of necessity if she could. Knowing one is confined is a terrible thing.
Her agitation was mounting.
I hate Medications
Her thoughts had turned to darkness, her eyes catching the last light on a patch of sunflowers below her third story window. The scratches on the window blurred as
her reflection came into focus. The only exit behind her opened, letting in a faint smell of carpet cleaner.
"Isabelle, it's time to take your meds again," A hesitant woman approached with a tray, on which rested two paper cups.
"I am feeling much better, though whatever you're giving me makes me tired. It also gives me nightmares. I feel that I am ready to go back to my job, I cannot afford to lose it,"
Isabelle came on with a business tone. If she didn't get some fresh air, some sort of project she was required to do and a cigarette she was going to kill the cunt who stood before her.
More than anything she couldn't take the free time, if there was nothing to do to drown out her thoughts she would go crazy. Then they'd never let her out.
"Bring it up at group, take your meds."
Cunt
Bell smiled, and actually swallowed her pills. It wasn't terrible every time she slept, sometimes it was a blink of twelve hour death.
Group consisted of twelve deraged individuals. Next to them, Bell felt almost sane. Everyone sat on blue chairs with wire legs, a mediator was asking each
person what brought them to their current predicament. So, when did you snap? We can help you.
I am going to skin all of you alive
She entered the room and it went silent. She was becoming used to this occurence, wherever her eyes laid she saw nothing but blood splatters suggestive
of short lived slaughter. Anymore she wondered if it was her that caused it somehow, or if it was in her head... there was no way of learning of it, no one around to
ask and nothing but stagnant empty buildings filleld with mildew. She could stay in any one she pleases, but the larger ones made her feel insecure so she stuck
to the cramped places she would be stuck in if there was anyone around to give rent to.
No bodies, yet so much blood. If it weren't for the streaks and splats telling tales of bodies being dragged and slashed about with little regard for
composition she could rest easier believing one day it simply rained blood. It must have rained blood and everyone up and moved in the day while she was
sleeping. She ended up finding solace in not having to deal with anyone at first, believing that she would inevitably feel alone whether people were roaming
around or not. True, she felt just as alone with no one as she did with the half million average automaton population she rarely interacted with.
She hated the sound of her voice, and it being the only one in an empty city with no electricity to escape into a song, she found herself silent. Silence was
all that could be found. She'd wished for such silence all her life, and now that it had finally come she found a grin spreading across her face. A kind observer
might call it a sly spreading of the lips. An honest one would call it a wicked expression of contempt of sudden satisfaction with existence.
In the distance piles of embers still smoldered. A pungent stench of charred flesh wafted through her barren streets in the early morning. Every evening.
There was no escape from it. It had become her alarm clock, forcing her to wake and roam through the cloak of darkness; one of the only things that made her
happy before her sudden stroke of luck. Staying alive was no dilemma, with open reign of every store. No doors remained on any place with sliding welcome
doors, she had pryed them all off and made a greenhouse in front of city hall, in which now grew numerous strains of psychedellic plants. The greenhouse idea
came after the doors had been piled, it was necessary to remove them when the power went out.
She found herself thinking about the electricity, it had blacked out several days after all the people made that horrible smell in their mass graves. It would
be at least a day's journey to satisfy her morbid curiosity, to see the piles. How many days had passed? Enough time to not care anymore, that much was
established. Thoughts of finding her way out of the shelter of her skyscrapers in search of human contact only entered her darkest dreams. In this city she claimed
as her own she could be as complacent and unproductive as she wanted. No more drafting of tunnels and missles. No more write ups describing exactly how
many stairs led into each silo. No more architecture of death at all. Seems everyone took care of that on their own, without her diligent help.
Complacency wore off. Base jumping off whatever she cared to kicked in. Plenty of chutes laying around in the storerooms at her work. Insanity, always
insanity. The gleeful drugged up don't care about life anymore so you can finally enjoy it kind. Followed by deep weeks of depression, a chemical misfire she
accepted as such and felt terrible through a third of the time. Her manic state had flip flopped with the depressed one, all she needed was an unexplained
removal of all the strain and paranoia caused by too many humans brings.
Swan Dive
A tree whispered longings for sanity to a stero playing off a car battery. She had voices again, though these empty shells of feeling spat out at the world
offered her little relief. Her clothes were becoming increasingly what would have been unaccepted as work uniform. Her camoflage was torn into a bizarre
miniskirt with a parachute cord wrapped around it for a belt. She was about to jump again.
Nothing better than a swan dive into the asphalt. Maybe she wouldn't pull the cord this time, it would make this realization pulsing through her head
bearable. It would make it better than bareable.
It would make it gone. There was nothing left to upset her but she still wanted to be gone, gone and no worries. Having a suicidal instinct helps one live
better, rather than worrying about little things there is one consolidated worry. That of death.
She did it. She made the piles, she charred the bodies, a month long liuau. And the regret: Exactly none. She would do it again, this aspect of mass
murder was the least facet of the diamond of self hatred that blinded her in its never ending reflection. What bothered her was the loneliness. It must be what
pained her, so she thought as a sharp tug pulled her straight up ten feet from the ground.
A draft catches, her body suddenly careening through a now shattered pane of her greenhouse. Shit There was more glass stacked at the back of her garden, but the mess she made
was going to be a bitch to clean up. Bell's clothes had become slightly more torn, one gash in particular on her shoulder now produced a trickle of red that was already reaching her
waist. She was lying on a crime scene, almost every tile of sidewalk was one. Her body laid splayed on the cracked sidewalk, broken glass spread out from her like a halo. It was just a
bad landing, most the blood wasn't hers. Most of it that was spurted from her arm, around the elbow. Nothing had been broken yet on any one of her jumps. Bell's paratrooper classes
actually ended up paying off. As soon as her drafting skills had been discovered she had no chance of getting what she signed up for, no dramatic scenes of descending upon people she
had never met and getting some good killing in. Maybe that's why she snapped, she needed an outlet for her aggression or she would bloody well go insane.
Greenhouse Results
Dreaded hair flies past attached to some reptillian creature. She was in a ballroom dance hall, filled with things that could not exist. Vermillion Spikes sprung from the ceiling,
each shedding a single drop of green liquid which shattered on the floor. This is what she lived for, harvest time. Her green house had paid off and now the world was a swirl of colors,
almost worth living in. The numbing agents from the plant she had just eaten helped dull the pain she still suffered from her mishap with the greenhouse.
The Bin
Three years earlier.
She is 23 and hating life. Enough that she tried to end it and found herself trapped in a padded blue room somewhere in the middle of an overpopulated
city. Gauze covers her legs and arms, faint red stains create a pattern not unlike that of a drunkard's spilt wine across an expensive white carpet.
Memories can be enough to live on
She tried to convince herself staring through thick scratched plexiglass. A whir from the camera in the corner of the room gave her another annoying
reminder of reality. The girl liked small rooms, had found comfort in locking herself in the bathroom when she was little. This room would be complete heaven if she only had
the option of leaving, she probably wouldn't except out of necessity if she could. Knowing one is confined is a terrible thing.
Her agitation was mounting.
I hate Medications
Her thoughts had turned to darkness, her eyes catching the last light on a patch of sunflowers below her third story window. The scratches on the window blurred as
her reflection came into focus. The only exit behind her opened, letting in a faint smell of carpet cleaner.
"Isabelle, it's time to take your meds again," A hesitant woman approached with a tray, on which rested two paper cups.
"I am feeling much better, though whatever you're giving me makes me tired. It also gives me nightmares. I feel that I am ready to go back to my job, I cannot afford to lose it,"
Isabelle came on with a business tone. If she didn't get some fresh air, some sort of project she was required to do and a cigarette she was going to kill the cunt who stood before her.
More than anything she couldn't take the free time, if there was nothing to do to drown out her thoughts she would go crazy. Then they'd never let her out.
"Bring it up at group, take your meds."
Cunt
Bell smiled, and actually swallowed her pills. It wasn't terrible every time she slept, sometimes it was a blink of twelve hour death.
Group consisted of twelve deraged individuals. Next to them, Bell felt almost sane. Everyone sat on blue chairs with wire legs, a mediator was asking each
person what brought them to their current predicament. So, when did you snap? We can help you.
I am going to skin all of you alive