Sensing the blood, I walked to toward the vile stench. The stench burrowing into my nostrils, it has the iron scent; metallic. It’s nauseating scent reminding me of fear of it. Your criticism is revolting; yes I’m afraid of blood. How can I not?! The bloods horrifying image; tainting good men and women under its Hell bent control, I had seen many a great man under its devilish control. They, through the blood, become worshipers of Satan himself. Like I said, blood gives me fear.
I kept walking to find the cause of the devilish scene, which is now burned into my slowly growing insane mind. My sensitive ears, slowly hearing the very drips of my anxious body’s sweat falling and hitting the Victorian floor. Drip, drip, drip. Do you hear it? That is the nervousness in me. It slowly enters my dry throat, waiting to be released, like vomit. The taste is there, the disgusting liquid and many uneaten food coming up in a sickly pinkish-purple color. Oh, how I loathe its taste!
Not knowing the feeling of being watched. I slowly pass the corridors in my dead-dead and melancholic house. The very house creeping in on me, giving me slight paranoia, making me frightened beyond relief. Being protected from birth in this house dulled – not destroyed, the very part of my brain that enables me to risk my life, bravery you call it. I was protected by this very house - from illnesses to dirt, through my parent’s deep fear of me dying from the outside world, but now I feel as though it’s trying to kill me. It’s making me claustrophobic – fear of tight spaces. It keeps closing in. Closer, closer, and closer. I can feel my skin screaming in fright and dire – dire pain.
Should I ignore the pain?
Wait, why do I care?! You’re all just my imagination! You’re all nothing but a figurative being as the L.S.D-induced Doctor Seuss. Wasn’t he the one who made the Who’s in Who-Ville, that eerily remind me of the Great Depression where a young and dirt poor city is called Hoover Ville? Yes, you’re all images of my already insane mind. The pain is slowly eating away my weak and pale body. Stepping back, I felt something behind me. Turning my head completely frightened I soon regretted it. What I saw was horrible. It is completely and utterly horrible, for I saw a dead body and not just any dead body, but . . . my very own fathers.
His body was completely horrifying. For his body would soon give me nightmares. His body was full of roaches, worms, beetles, and even ants on his body, they were eating his body. His eye balls completely cut out and dangling down in the air as his body is hung like Lazarus’ body in those Jesus Christ movies. His body completely pale yet dirty from the dirt on his body. His jaw opened out of nowhere and there a bunch of flies get out and his skin scorched.
His tongue is so scorched that it’s really dark and dark in death.
His cheeks are impaled by a bloody stake that is shown in his mouth. His teeth seemed to be drilled as worms and roaches are there crawling around. I tried to back up but now, I was frozen in shock and complete anguish. My father is dead. The dead body of his is already decaying faster than normal because of the minuscule bugs on his body, what a horrible sight to behold. What kind of demon did this?! No human could’ve done this without any moral! I am very scared. No vendetta was made to my father.
For he has never done any harm. So why?! Why would people kill a gentle person like him? It’s not fair . . . my poor, poor father dead without a normal death. He died because of a sick and disgusting human being. I must look for my mother. She needs to know what happened to my father! I tried and tried to forget that demonic sight of my father. But it keeps coming and coming, more and clearer. His left eye socket stuffed with dirt, his always clean and white teeth - yellow as the sun, his cheek showing skin falling, his right arm showing many bones sticking out like a chicken dinner, his fingers were all twisted in 35º. Sickly sight on that, his right hand seemed too been have chewed on by what seems a dog.
My poor, poor father, he never deserved this! I must find my mother. I walked slowly far away from the sickening scene of which is in front of me and when I did, I heard a creaking noise. I was near the noise, so I followed. The very mental images of what was going to happen next is very frightening for an 8 year old such as I. I had the lullaby, “And I’ll Sing You a Lullaby”
“There is a lullaby
The lullaby was made and sung by my father. He sung this for me as a child, this sweet lullaby – though plain in lyrics, is quite good when the beat and music is in it. The lullaby always made me feel happy and secure. But now, this song is the total structure for my sadness of my deceased father. His lullaby for me is now his funeral song in honor of him when this is finished. I kept walking toward the hall to the living room. The room getting cold.
My blood freezing, giving me frost bite. I sense death is everywhere. The foul house that I live in – no, it's no longer a house, it is Hell itself, is nothing more than a war zone. Blood everywhere, death in the atmosphere, everything dark, no life sensed in here, a poltergeist is in here. I sense it's dark presence – you fancy mad, yes, I am mad. Mad with revenge. I walked down stairs, visioning flames of Hell in the rising. The heat may not be there, but it is affecting my very pores of my scared body. Oh, give me strength God.
I heard the steps creak with every step. Creak. Creak. Creeaakk. More creaks happening every time, making me annoyed with it's very sound. The sound reminds me of the drums I keep hearing, and that abomination of a sound is only in my head! Terrible. Terrible noise.
Keep walking, I though to myself. And I did, slowly I walked to the living room. The complete scene was nauseating scene, just as the scene with my father. But, there is one big difference from seeing my dead fathers mutilated body to this scene. This time, it wasn't him.
The scene, is completely horrifying, the dead body was now known as I gaze into it's very body. The body was . . . it was . . .