round 1

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
write-only story as an outlet

Submitted: May 02, 2016

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Submitted: May 02, 2016



There was time, when I remembered. Remembered who I was, who I’ve been. Remembered the glory and the pride. When I became what I truly am, or at least hope to become. Now all I have is a memory of the feeling of having world, feeling of knowing exactly what to do, exactly what I can do, which is a lot, and what I can’t, which is not many, if any.  Frustrated and impotent for not remember how I achieved or if it’s even real.

The cause of this, is simply the memory of this feeling. If I had truly forgotten it would have been fine, ignorance may not truly be bliss but at least it does not bring pain. I might of have turned out to be a content man, satisfied with my achievements. But when I compared anything to my memory of that feeling, I become a pathetic hopeless shell of a man, stripped of all worth. Worthless entity, not man, not a boy just a thing that exist in this world. Material side, average at best, personality wise lifeless, primal side, eunuch. A cartoon caricature no human would dream of considering as mate. As if he’s capable of giving pleasure. Emasculation in its purest form.

That believe or not, even that is still bearable as long as you have your illusions. But when that is even taken from you, when there is no longer the shelter, well. The abyss, the abyss is all there is. Though you’re not even worth the abyss staring back at.

Tonight I am fighting for my life. I am not bleeding, nor cold, nor malnourished or dying of thirst. I am just sitting here in the dark, staring at the abyss hoping for it to stare back. Then at least I can find escape in madness. If I do by some miracle survive, the wound is there. And next time it will be harder and harder.

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