Death Never Looked So Beautiful
Two
As it always seems to, paranoia set in throughout the whole night at work. Every time I turned a corner I could just feel Keith's eyes on me. I expected him to turn up somewhere within the museum to murder me. That sadistic smile sending chills down my spine long after he had already left the building, but in reality it all just reminds me too much of before. It seems that no matter how much I don't want the thoughts circling around inside my head, they're always there reminding me of all that had happened. That's the past though, and I shouldn't dwell on it. I really need to stop letting it eat away at my mind.
With the dark of the night blanketing the world around you, nothing stops your mind from pulling your monsters out of storage to torment you. I blame this on my jumpy, jittery behavior. If it weren't for my own personal monsters mixing horridly with the natural darkness night brings about, I would seem more 'normal.' I wouldn't come off as some 'nut-case' to anyone who may be watching, but, of course, I'm hoping there isn't anyone watching. I'm inside a closed building with cameras watching everything, me watching the cameras. There shouldn't be anyone else- only the exhibits, technology, and myself. That is how it is, but the fear that someone is there will forever haunt me.
They say I'm fully recovered, and that I can function as a productive member of society. I'm starting to think they're wrong because this isn't what they would call recovered. On the bright side, I can properly be considered as a productive member of society as I am working, not feeding off the government.
Once my shift is over, sunlight is engulfing the world within my view, and it only makes sense that a smile is brought to my face at the lack of surrounding darkness. Don't get me wrong, I loath the sun for the tint it adds to my skin when underneath its rays too long, but the comfort of the light is something no-one could possibly blame me for. It is much needed to help keep the demons away.
Almost mechanically I make my way home, wanting nothing more than to curl up under my covers and sleep away the anxieties brought throughout the night. My mind continuously flashing back to those unspeakable times, making my walk seem longer than it actually is, but also making me more thankful once I finally do reach what has become my home. That is, I feel thankful until I actually reach my porch. It is once I notice the addition laid out in front of my door that I let out a scream as I stumble backward, only to fall off the porch all together. Landing on my back in the snow, I squeeze my eyes shut hoping for everything to just be a dream. I didn't just see that. I didn't just scream. I didn't just fall. My back isn't hurting me. This isn't real, I try to tell myself. At first I believe it, but once I hear shouts around me, people coming closer to find out if I'm okay that I realize, This is real. No matter how much I wish for it not to be.
I open my eyes, slowly sitting up as my body shakes terribly in fright. Who would do something like this? I ask myself repeatedly, just barely understanding my neighbor asking me what the matter is to which I answer, pointing a shaky finger toward my door. I know she notices, her screams make that apparent. The difference between her and I, though, she pulls out her phone and calls the police; I just cower in fear, thoughts racing over who could have possibly done this.
Who is sick enough to leave a body at someone's door?
With the dark of the night blanketing the world around you, nothing stops your mind from pulling your monsters out of storage to torment you. I blame this on my jumpy, jittery behavior. If it weren't for my own personal monsters mixing horridly with the natural darkness night brings about, I would seem more 'normal.' I wouldn't come off as some 'nut-case' to anyone who may be watching, but, of course, I'm hoping there isn't anyone watching. I'm inside a closed building with cameras watching everything, me watching the cameras. There shouldn't be anyone else- only the exhibits, technology, and myself. That is how it is, but the fear that someone is there will forever haunt me.
They say I'm fully recovered, and that I can function as a productive member of society. I'm starting to think they're wrong because this isn't what they would call recovered. On the bright side, I can properly be considered as a productive member of society as I am working, not feeding off the government.
Once my shift is over, sunlight is engulfing the world within my view, and it only makes sense that a smile is brought to my face at the lack of surrounding darkness. Don't get me wrong, I loath the sun for the tint it adds to my skin when underneath its rays too long, but the comfort of the light is something no-one could possibly blame me for. It is much needed to help keep the demons away.
Almost mechanically I make my way home, wanting nothing more than to curl up under my covers and sleep away the anxieties brought throughout the night. My mind continuously flashing back to those unspeakable times, making my walk seem longer than it actually is, but also making me more thankful once I finally do reach what has become my home. That is, I feel thankful until I actually reach my porch. It is once I notice the addition laid out in front of my door that I let out a scream as I stumble backward, only to fall off the porch all together. Landing on my back in the snow, I squeeze my eyes shut hoping for everything to just be a dream. I didn't just see that. I didn't just scream. I didn't just fall. My back isn't hurting me. This isn't real, I try to tell myself. At first I believe it, but once I hear shouts around me, people coming closer to find out if I'm okay that I realize, This is real. No matter how much I wish for it not to be.
I open my eyes, slowly sitting up as my body shakes terribly in fright. Who would do something like this? I ask myself repeatedly, just barely understanding my neighbor asking me what the matter is to which I answer, pointing a shaky finger toward my door. I know she notices, her screams make that apparent. The difference between her and I, though, she pulls out her phone and calls the police; I just cower in fear, thoughts racing over who could have possibly done this.
Who is sick enough to leave a body at someone's door?
♠ ♠ ♠
this took a lot longer to write than i thought it would. mainly because this story actually makes me feel paranoid just writing it and it kind of makes me anxious too. but i deal. its all in the name of art.hope you enjoy it.
thanks to xxpenisawrxx and h.a.p.p.y. for recommending and ConfinedIntention for commenting. also thanks for reading and thanks for subscribing. means a lot. especially after taking over a month to update.