Jet Black Angels
Jet Black Angels
All I’m noticing is the brick walls, the wooden doors. And I’m screaming. But the world is lost to me. Am I screaming? Am I breathing? Am I sleeping? And now all I see is blood, obstructing my view + staining my clothes. It’s spilling from my eyes, the pain smeared on my face. Can these people imagine this endless hell? Can they save me as I’m falling? Or will it be too late by the time I hit this ancient stone, sprawled on these cathedral steps? I’m falling…drowning in this venom my life has always been.
Lying on the ground, coughing up more of this blood that’s surrounded me, desperation cuts deep, filling my vacant stare. The illusion of jet black angels, always + forever the beginning of an endless suffering. A promise of eternal misery. ‘Someone save us!’ This is the unavoidable deception of heaven crashing down, a guillotine to secure the torture. ‘Heaven help us!’ But the nuns that appear are nothing more than vicious nightmares, demons out for revenge + they’re covering me in gasoline again…
I woke up, drenched in sweat, sitting on the floor with ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ in my hand + ‘Ironmadien’ blaring from my stereo. These dreams were so clear + came every night, + because of this, I dreaded sleep. Right now it was 2:30am. Mum had gone on some business trip + I was home alone. I couldn’t let myself sleep. I couldn’t stand these nightmares, I felt everything. The thoughts + the pain. The pain in my heart, the misery + suffering, endless. The cold stone rushing up to jerk my body violently. The gasoline seeping into my skin, burning my flesh. Knowing that this is my life, forever, eternally. It goes on + on, never ceasing, for every second I’m asleep. I’d thought that I could never fall asleep listening to ‘Ironmadien’, but, apparently, I was wrong. Although, I suppose, I’d already gone three sleepless nights + there was a lot of coffee involved to keep me awake then. I closed my book, not bothering to take note of the page, I’d already read it a few times, I didn’t really need to again, not now. I decided to go for a walk. Yes, it was probably dangerous, considering where I lived. No, nothing could be worse than the feeling of that dream. I threw a jacket over my crumpled clothes, my red hoodie, + walked out of the house, suddenly angry. Why was no-one here? Why was there no-one to tell about these dreams? Why was there no-one to comfort me?
About half an hour later I was walking down the street opposite a small bunch of shops. A general store, a barber, a fish + chip shop, a butcher + an abandoned shop with all it’s windows smashed. I looked up, past the dim street-lights, to find comfort in the almost full moon. Instead, all I could see was the 3am sky, a dark blanket pressing down, trying to smother my anger, an anger that was growing with every second that passed. I hated this dark, I needed this anger. I needed to walk the streets blinded by some kind of rage. Why wasn’t I allowed just this?
I turned to glare up the street as a dark car sped down the street. No more than drunken 17 year old speeding p-platers, I thought. Having fun, of course. Having fun doing everything they shouldn’t. I hated them, I hated their drunken happiness. The car came closer. There were only two people inside. Evil + bitter looking. I turned to keep walking + braced myself for the cold wind of the car speeding past. There were shots, they echoed through the street. I fell to the cracked sidewalk, clutching my stomach, blood seeping through my fingers. My breathing was rough, already failing. I spluttered, covering the pavement in more blood, staining it red forever. I looked up once again, as the clouds parted. The moonlight revealed me, lying there, helplessly awaiting death, filled with pain. I sought comfort, again, but the cold moon stared down, judging my last breaths cruelly. The dream flooded painfully through my mind + then drifted away like fog. I stared up at the heartless moon, filled with desperation. I felt colder every moment. The merciful grey clouds covered the moon, the only witnesses to my last breath, no longer fogging in the cold night air. The only witnesses to my eyes, stained, staring vacantly to where the moon had been, filled with an illusion. Jet black angels.
Lying on the ground, coughing up more of this blood that’s surrounded me, desperation cuts deep, filling my vacant stare. The illusion of jet black angels, always + forever the beginning of an endless suffering. A promise of eternal misery. ‘Someone save us!’ This is the unavoidable deception of heaven crashing down, a guillotine to secure the torture. ‘Heaven help us!’ But the nuns that appear are nothing more than vicious nightmares, demons out for revenge + they’re covering me in gasoline again…
I woke up, drenched in sweat, sitting on the floor with ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ in my hand + ‘Ironmadien’ blaring from my stereo. These dreams were so clear + came every night, + because of this, I dreaded sleep. Right now it was 2:30am. Mum had gone on some business trip + I was home alone. I couldn’t let myself sleep. I couldn’t stand these nightmares, I felt everything. The thoughts + the pain. The pain in my heart, the misery + suffering, endless. The cold stone rushing up to jerk my body violently. The gasoline seeping into my skin, burning my flesh. Knowing that this is my life, forever, eternally. It goes on + on, never ceasing, for every second I’m asleep. I’d thought that I could never fall asleep listening to ‘Ironmadien’, but, apparently, I was wrong. Although, I suppose, I’d already gone three sleepless nights + there was a lot of coffee involved to keep me awake then. I closed my book, not bothering to take note of the page, I’d already read it a few times, I didn’t really need to again, not now. I decided to go for a walk. Yes, it was probably dangerous, considering where I lived. No, nothing could be worse than the feeling of that dream. I threw a jacket over my crumpled clothes, my red hoodie, + walked out of the house, suddenly angry. Why was no-one here? Why was there no-one to tell about these dreams? Why was there no-one to comfort me?
About half an hour later I was walking down the street opposite a small bunch of shops. A general store, a barber, a fish + chip shop, a butcher + an abandoned shop with all it’s windows smashed. I looked up, past the dim street-lights, to find comfort in the almost full moon. Instead, all I could see was the 3am sky, a dark blanket pressing down, trying to smother my anger, an anger that was growing with every second that passed. I hated this dark, I needed this anger. I needed to walk the streets blinded by some kind of rage. Why wasn’t I allowed just this?
I turned to glare up the street as a dark car sped down the street. No more than drunken 17 year old speeding p-platers, I thought. Having fun, of course. Having fun doing everything they shouldn’t. I hated them, I hated their drunken happiness. The car came closer. There were only two people inside. Evil + bitter looking. I turned to keep walking + braced myself for the cold wind of the car speeding past. There were shots, they echoed through the street. I fell to the cracked sidewalk, clutching my stomach, blood seeping through my fingers. My breathing was rough, already failing. I spluttered, covering the pavement in more blood, staining it red forever. I looked up once again, as the clouds parted. The moonlight revealed me, lying there, helplessly awaiting death, filled with pain. I sought comfort, again, but the cold moon stared down, judging my last breaths cruelly. The dream flooded painfully through my mind + then drifted away like fog. I stared up at the heartless moon, filled with desperation. I felt colder every moment. The merciful grey clouds covered the moon, the only witnesses to my last breath, no longer fogging in the cold night air. The only witnesses to my eyes, stained, staring vacantly to where the moon had been, filled with an illusion. Jet black angels.