Monster
o1.
"Let me out of here," he begged. His hands shook violently as he pulled at his hair. Before him, ghosts and things of make believe that were mentioned in stories to make children behave were seeping through the walls and crawling on the ceiling.
The room was small and dark. The only light came from a draw string light. It was dull, though, for the light bulb was old and ready to fade out completely. The room had a window, but it was covered in metal bars and no matter what time it was, not that the concept of time existed here anyway, the sky was always dark. The stars didn't even shine here. Wherever 'here' was.
The walls themselves were made of mirrors and cast his reflection and the reflection of the things he considered to be damned. The reflections seemed to cast themselves in what seemed to him to be a thousand different directions and angles. Each angle seemed to distort him even more. He liked to keep his eyes closed so he didn't have to look at himself.
When he opened his eyes, they morphed into black, demonic orbs that had no sense of direction or aims. His cheeks hollowed out and the monsters that were apart of his worst nightmares would crawl up his back and sink their talons into his skin and squawk wildly in his ear and haunt his every thought. If he kept his eyes closed, his face wouldn't distort nor would he have to see the creatures. Regardless of what he did, the digging of the grisly, dirty creatures wouldn't stop nor would the squealing. They were more bearable if he didn't open his eyes.
"Please, let me out," he begged to no one in particular. Handfuls of his dark, too dark to be brown too light to be black hair came out in his hands. They said that stress and extreme emotional shocks caused ones hair to fall out, but his chronic problem with hair pulling couldn't help either. His hands shook violently and they were covered in scratches and bruises.
The sounds of the ghosts and creatures groaning as his bones creaked and his heart ached. His mind throbbed and pulsed, feeling as if it would explode.
Every day, the nightmares turned reality would burn patterns in his skin and laughed when he cried out from the searing pain. His face contorted and twisted with hate and terror, his eyes still remaining shut. He didn't often open his eyes when they were making hateful patterns on his skin. The faces mocked him and threatened to pluck his eyes right out of his head.
He shook and his heart beat crazily and his vision blurred as they closed their long, nasty fingers around his heart and lungs. He gasped for air, feeling his rib cage crushing and being unable to breathe.
"I said, let me out!" he screamed, his shrill, crackling voice shattered the mirrored walls and the room seemed to explode around him. In this moment, the reader should feel pity towards the unfortunate boy, as one cannot be let out of or escape their own mind. Especially not when you're drowning and becoming a monster yourself.
For, when he wakes, he himself will be the things from his nightmares and the creatures from the stories told to children to make them behave. His eyes would stay black, his pupil seemingly taking over his entire eye. His skin would be pale and riddled with the burns and scratches and scars from the things of his dreams. His hands and nails would look like hooks and talons, digging deep into other people's heart as he had had these dirty, grungy nails dug into his. He'll take your soul and shatter it. Your heart will be cut open and sewn back together only to be pumped full of hate and vile blackness. You'll be a monster, just like our dear friend.
The room was small and dark. The only light came from a draw string light. It was dull, though, for the light bulb was old and ready to fade out completely. The room had a window, but it was covered in metal bars and no matter what time it was, not that the concept of time existed here anyway, the sky was always dark. The stars didn't even shine here. Wherever 'here' was.
The walls themselves were made of mirrors and cast his reflection and the reflection of the things he considered to be damned. The reflections seemed to cast themselves in what seemed to him to be a thousand different directions and angles. Each angle seemed to distort him even more. He liked to keep his eyes closed so he didn't have to look at himself.
When he opened his eyes, they morphed into black, demonic orbs that had no sense of direction or aims. His cheeks hollowed out and the monsters that were apart of his worst nightmares would crawl up his back and sink their talons into his skin and squawk wildly in his ear and haunt his every thought. If he kept his eyes closed, his face wouldn't distort nor would he have to see the creatures. Regardless of what he did, the digging of the grisly, dirty creatures wouldn't stop nor would the squealing. They were more bearable if he didn't open his eyes.
"Please, let me out," he begged to no one in particular. Handfuls of his dark, too dark to be brown too light to be black hair came out in his hands. They said that stress and extreme emotional shocks caused ones hair to fall out, but his chronic problem with hair pulling couldn't help either. His hands shook violently and they were covered in scratches and bruises.
The sounds of the ghosts and creatures groaning as his bones creaked and his heart ached. His mind throbbed and pulsed, feeling as if it would explode.
Every day, the nightmares turned reality would burn patterns in his skin and laughed when he cried out from the searing pain. His face contorted and twisted with hate and terror, his eyes still remaining shut. He didn't often open his eyes when they were making hateful patterns on his skin. The faces mocked him and threatened to pluck his eyes right out of his head.
He shook and his heart beat crazily and his vision blurred as they closed their long, nasty fingers around his heart and lungs. He gasped for air, feeling his rib cage crushing and being unable to breathe.
"I said, let me out!" he screamed, his shrill, crackling voice shattered the mirrored walls and the room seemed to explode around him. In this moment, the reader should feel pity towards the unfortunate boy, as one cannot be let out of or escape their own mind. Especially not when you're drowning and becoming a monster yourself.
For, when he wakes, he himself will be the things from his nightmares and the creatures from the stories told to children to make them behave. His eyes would stay black, his pupil seemingly taking over his entire eye. His skin would be pale and riddled with the burns and scratches and scars from the things of his dreams. His hands and nails would look like hooks and talons, digging deep into other people's heart as he had had these dirty, grungy nails dug into his. He'll take your soul and shatter it. Your heart will be cut open and sewn back together only to be pumped full of hate and vile blackness. You'll be a monster, just like our dear friend.
♠ ♠ ♠
Entry for Tomb It May Concern.