Sequel: The Sickening. ›
The Thickening.
Thickening -2.
So this is what they call the Glasgow grin...
My showing teeth have changed from a innocent pearl to a blackish red now, and the fleshy blood wading in the sink starts to rise, slowly, but surely. Since I know that the nerves in my arms are purely shot now, I get to work on something that will actually feel, make the pain flow out, instead of drawing back...
I want this to hurt.
My torso pulls up along the ridges of the counter, as my cell phone clatters to the ground inside of my sweatshirt pocket. It's half dead now, but I crush it to fulfill the other halve; this can take no interruption. The blade is much too dull to pass through bone at all, so there must be a new source of suffering lying somewhere inside the bathroom walls...somewhere. I can't think too much, as there won't be any oxygen left to do so, and there won't be any blood to sustain that oxygen, as my intentions will shatter...
Shatter. That's it.
Once again, the knife clenches in the marred remains of my hand. It is a mess of hair, skin, and tissue-clotted blood, and I hate it with all of my fucking guts, more, and more, and a whole lot fucking more until...ARGGGGHHHHH!!!
The blade thrusts forward, airborne for a matter of seconds, then it crashes into the bathroom mirror full force. Shards of glass spray everywhere, including my fresh new torso, and wedge themselves as deep as they please; the deeper the nicks, the better. When the sounds begin to settle, and the employees become aware in melodious chatter, I pick up a fairly large piece, beginning to gnaw away at my skinny ribs. They start to come closer, and I start to cut harder, pushing the glass until my bowels come tumbling out all over the bloodied counter. The sink runs over onto the floor, and a pungent, sour smell begins to cloud the room. Restaurant workers are only a few steps to the door, and I direct every waking bit of my anger into the last slash, pushing down with ten numb nubs. Farther...farther...come...ON!!!!!
The glass finally rips through the last layer of stomach lining, and an employess lets out the most piercing, horrifying scream as she falls over the soaked, once white tiles, her body becoming fixed right betwixt my torn, severed, mutilated, halves.
My upper half rises up, and I find that it is only me doing the scream, and I cry, ashamed of my own embarssment to the newly dried sheets.
My showing teeth have changed from a innocent pearl to a blackish red now, and the fleshy blood wading in the sink starts to rise, slowly, but surely. Since I know that the nerves in my arms are purely shot now, I get to work on something that will actually feel, make the pain flow out, instead of drawing back...
I want this to hurt.
My torso pulls up along the ridges of the counter, as my cell phone clatters to the ground inside of my sweatshirt pocket. It's half dead now, but I crush it to fulfill the other halve; this can take no interruption. The blade is much too dull to pass through bone at all, so there must be a new source of suffering lying somewhere inside the bathroom walls...somewhere. I can't think too much, as there won't be any oxygen left to do so, and there won't be any blood to sustain that oxygen, as my intentions will shatter...
Shatter. That's it.
Once again, the knife clenches in the marred remains of my hand. It is a mess of hair, skin, and tissue-clotted blood, and I hate it with all of my fucking guts, more, and more, and a whole lot fucking more until...ARGGGGHHHHH!!!
The blade thrusts forward, airborne for a matter of seconds, then it crashes into the bathroom mirror full force. Shards of glass spray everywhere, including my fresh new torso, and wedge themselves as deep as they please; the deeper the nicks, the better. When the sounds begin to settle, and the employees become aware in melodious chatter, I pick up a fairly large piece, beginning to gnaw away at my skinny ribs. They start to come closer, and I start to cut harder, pushing the glass until my bowels come tumbling out all over the bloodied counter. The sink runs over onto the floor, and a pungent, sour smell begins to cloud the room. Restaurant workers are only a few steps to the door, and I direct every waking bit of my anger into the last slash, pushing down with ten numb nubs. Farther...farther...come...ON!!!!!
The glass finally rips through the last layer of stomach lining, and an employess lets out the most piercing, horrifying scream as she falls over the soaked, once white tiles, her body becoming fixed right betwixt my torn, severed, mutilated, halves.
My upper half rises up, and I find that it is only me doing the scream, and I cry, ashamed of my own embarssment to the newly dried sheets.
♠ ♠ ♠
Yes. This is what my nightmares are like...lol.Only the nice ones.
For each of you who made it here with or without cringing, tell me what famous person my body resembled, and I will recc and comment one of your stories :)