Halloween post!

Were you eagerly awaiting this? Well, you probably shouldn't have been. In any case, a very happy (or spooOOOOooky) Halloween!

So, I'm gonna attach a preface to this for a few reasons. First, a preface makes any piece of writing seem more important than it would be without. Second of all, I can explain the plot of this story in two sentences, and it's unpleasant. A guy goes up onto a mountain alone. He gets hypothermia and starts seeing stuff before he finally dies. There's a poem at the end explaining it, so if you want to read it (I don't see why you would, since it's average as far as poems go and only reiterates what I just said) you may. If you'd rather not read this haunting story, wait until tomorrow since I guess I'm obliged to post something then.


All he could feel was the bitter cold, eating away at him. He thought about where he was, thoughts drifting through the vast space the cold had left in his mind. Breathing slowly, his breath almost crystallizing when it hit the icy air, he pondered why he had bothered climbing this mountain alone.
At 22,000 feet up, most storm clouds should have been far below him, but he saw them form all around, encompassing him in a dark gray. Tendrils of fog detached themselves from the main body, whipping around, feeling him. The man shuddered at the touch, backing up into a mass of cloud. The cold darkness enveloped him; he tried to scream but the sound was drowned in immense thunder roaring everywhere. He was nowhere, he was nobody, he was nothing.
Lightning cracked around him, screaming at the foreigner in its midst, striking him, striking through him. He felt as though he was on fire. He was on fire. No, that was just his mind running wild again. Was this even here? Where was he? Who was he? Why was he? Were those eyes he saw in the mass of clouds?
The man inhaled again, after what felt like hours. He began to choke, suffocate on the ice that had pulled itself inside him. His blood was freezing in his veins as shadows started dancing around him, chanting, screeching with the wind while the thunder roared and the lightning screamed. Light began shining through the clouds, eating them, devouring until there was nothing but harsh cold light with lightning still striking and thunder everywhere.
Where the lightning had not burned and scarred him, the strange light did. It provided him no warmth, only more suffering. The shadows he had seen, the eyes, ran around him cackling madly, shouting curses upon his name, his family, everything of his. They were from the fog, its spawn, feeling him gently before scratching, ripping his eyes and tongue out while he held onto his throat, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come past the ice. His nose didn’t work; he was trapped.
Poking him viciously, the creatures grinned and picked him up. One took a knife, and started removing his fingers and toes, then hands and feet, arms, legs. He tried to fight the cold, fight the fog, fight his inner will to let go. He fought for breath, struggled to move but there was nothing to move anymore, no more besides his head and torso now. He felt warm blood trickling down his face, into his gaping, decaying mouth.
As his charred, bleeding body froze, his flesh rotted and his insides melted. A slight cut on his neck broadened into an abyss he was falling into, flailing with arms and legs he didn’t have for a grip that wasn’t there. Further into his mind he drove himself, trying to avoid the pain and destruction that tore him to pieces outside.
The man found that inside was no better, for everything in his mind was starting to decay, too, sickly and deformed from the touch of the fog. He found himself chained to a table, so firmly held a prisoner in his own mind, incapable of suicide in a place where that should have been the easiest thing to do. Coming up to him, the fog offered one small final mercy. Putting one hand on his jaw and the other near his sternum, the creature lunged for his throat.

I feel you there,
I feel the cold,
I feel the darkness
Taking hold.
I can’t see you,
I don’t know why
I feel this warmth.
I die.

Before-Halloween-Post

This poem's called Salvation, and I daresay it means something.


I hear your name,
I see your face,
I lose myself
Inside this place.
I see your eyes,
Your lovely crown,
You will be saved
Before you drown.

I am but flesh
And twisted bone,
With mind of ice
And heart of stone.
I have no soul
That I can see,
Please prove me wrong
And set me free.

I will save you
Or I will die,
I hear your plea,
No need to cry.
I’ll rescue you
And bring you home.
Forget me, please,
And freely roam.

Untitled Poem

Night sky stared down at me
And said, "Little one, soon
You will be among us.
And you will shine brightly."
Looking back, so I am.
So I am.

My Agony

You are my dear agony,
You are my blissful pain.
You are my source of chaos,
You are my burning rain.

You are my nightmare,
You are my love.
You are my dark half,
You are my black dove.

You are my darkness,
You are my soul.
You are my corruption,
You are my whole.

Two Poems

Rescue

No goodness is left,
Not one small trace
Of peace or light
In this bad place.

The dark is all
That I can see,
Have mercy, you,
Come rescue me.


Cold

Cold light shining,
Merciless.
Cold eyes gleaming,
Passionless.
Cold soul pulsing,
Bodiless.

Cold mind racing,
Heartless.
Cold blow flowing,
Ruthless.
Cold corpse moving,
Soulless.

In Remembrance of 9-11

Outside, the trees were starting to turn, the leaves beginning the change from green to all sorts of hues. Inside the car, overwhelming gray dominated. Even the driver, a woman whose hair had started to gray early, was affected. She was alone in the car, but she sometimes heard others there, where they once were, where she wished they were now. One of those voices was her own.
Along the winding rural road she drove, knowing exactly where she was going. The sun still held itself high, but she wouldn’t have cared if it were already dusk. For almost an hour she drove, stopping at a cemetery out in the middle of nowhere. This was perhaps one of the most peaceful resting places in the world. Colors seemed to clash as the woman left her car, vibrant color flowing over everything. She walked with a bouquet in her hand, eyes closed. She had sometimes had nightmares about this place; she knew it too well.
Kneeling where she was used to, tears started flowing down her face as she placed the flowers upon the grave of her husband. For the first time in nine years, to the day, she spoke.
“I love you.”

Crystal, conclusion

As the days went by, tanks fired at me. I screamed for them to put me out of my misery, ripping them apart, begging them to do more. I spent most of my miserable time trying to hurt myself with the sword. And then I started to hurt myself by thinking of what was really the case. I beat at myself all the harder for it. Eventually, I felt myself bleed. I stared down at my hand, which was dark as pitch. The sword was not there, but the crystal was definitely in my forehead. I looked straight ahead and saw a mirror of myself, but the purest white. He had the sword. I was the dark one, the demon, the evil being. How had I deluded myself this whole time? “Have mercy, my better half,” I moaned.
Perhaps it listened. Perhaps it did what it thought was right. Thrusting the blade into the point between my eyes, I could hear it whisper, “Have blissful agony, fiend.”
Light blinded me, burned me like nothing had before. I still see it, the light, all before me. I had not the strength to scream. I don’t know how long I’ve been like this, but the light hasn’t stopped burning yet.

This one is definitely complete. Now I need to think up a new story.