Drkness and truth

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 15, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 15, 2016



As silence looms over the sullen hall he walks down this dark corridor. Shadows and sounds haunt him at every turn and every voice that echoes churns crevices into what little sanity still remains. This is his life day by day, walking the hollow husk of a life that continually chewed and grinded by all he despised into his head. Now no light bares to shine the as he continued and endless cycle of pressure and torment and continued to shallowly follow the path the seemed to almost materialise before him. He followed obediently like the mindless drones around him continually walking this path, seemingly enjoy the bland horrifying nature it presented to him.

Why walk a road with no hope where only the darkened abyss of hell confides you? Why torture a mind so beautiful with such horrors as boredom? What soul here can be free? What man can write his own path? The answer is not clear to me nor the spirits whose loam some howl continues to tear through the peaceful silence that has protruded his mind. His life is so drawn out, as though some greater power, perhaps a king or god or upbeat politician with plans to indoctrinate yet another mindless soul. Who here rules over a life that I have not been given to live/ no power I hold can change what society has laid before me. No will I hold is enough to free a single person from the grip of the terrorist we call our leaders. There is no time in life to live. No. we mustn’t live. We must march in single file lines towards the destiny laid before us at birth, drawing hatred on those around us.

The man continues to walk through this hell as to a rise and fall from, sickening sounds of failure to the absence of love. No man nor god should endure the hardships of this life. Then, a pillar appears, where unto it is a book of test and trials, of numbers and words. The first test of life as they say and one not suited for him. He knows not how to write the knowledge he knows nor how to please but a single person whose pen stroke as majesty over the next turn in his life.

Why try when there is only failure? Why do it when struggle is all you get? Why sit the test when your ability to express the brain you’ve been given is not relevant here? So you can’t write, what good are you to society, an organisation of the fool hardy and dim witted. BOSTES, an organisation of fools who judge the people of their countries not as human but as numbers, and not by ability but by hand writing. Why should the smart among us who deserve to live be cast aside, unwanted and distraught. You ask a monkey to climb a tree he will do it; you ask a fish to do the same it will fail. Harshness does not breed the strong but only talented idiots to fill the shoes of those before….

Now judged by a lifeless piece of paper he continues to walk the tunnel. He takes a step by step only to be looked upon with cruelty and hatred. Why should he be forced to walk this road? With no hope he walks on, no one to take him in, no love to feel. He walks on as those above him seethed and scowl at the boy who failed, no life greets him. They say at the end of every dark tunnel there is a light, but here its only shadow. In tears and horror, fear gripping his heart sorrow filling his soul, he reaches a pedestal. A lone marble structure, a revolver atop, branded steel titled escape. He grips the handle and view the weapon. And mumbles to himself, escaping at last. He raises the gun, hints of peril surround him, terror, shouting, more and more, red dripping, FINALLY ITS ALL HERES AS SHOUTING AND CHANTING REFUGES LOOSENING, AND NOTHING CAN STOP IT…….




Did I ever tell you what the definition of insanity is? Insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result… what are we all doing…. What are you doing…. Are we… insane….

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