Melancholy Colors

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Our nameless narrator starts having a problematic daydream.

Submitted: September 28, 2016

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Submitted: September 28, 2016

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There was already a crack, it runs down from the center of the ceiling, to the wall. A long with the formation of said crack, a numb thud can be heard. The girl had thought nothing of it, for these come and go but not cracking, this was new and resumes her reading. She wasn't big on it. Then again, she wasn't "big" on anything, and it's not like she had any other opinions. Day dream, perhaps? It was the persons up stairs, she soon wondered. People do that. Be loud, be accidental, random, misunderstood, broken, by God or devil, by all or by none. The girl resumed her reading. She wasn't big on it, though. It was all the girl did, do activities, tasks, that she didn't want to do, but felt obliterated to. The girl's thoughts kept going off, however. Leading to the most profound and queer questions; "Why are we here? What's the point, even if there is, is it worth, following?" These thoughts echoed in the small, low furnished apartment, until it hit silence. Another thud. Slightly louder this time the carves also grow, but the girl didn't notice. That was it, the thumps have been going on for as long as the girl could remember and she's supposed to be fine with it? No way, she'll make a complaint, that's what the girl will do! However, the girl had made complaints before, but nothing happened. This thought was buried, behind emotions. All she can do, is "rage."Rage: a word meant to express uncontrollable anger, was one of the nouns you could use to decide how she's feeling that run on our mind. Another is fury, wrath, or blue.

Blue? Why blue? The girl wasn't sad, depressed. No, she was red! The color of fire, a flame that can represent mad love, or deep hatred. Where did blue come from? A new thud began, and with it, the hole, which became the score of the girl's existential crisis, also became a goatse. Everything became a haze. Was she dead? She wasn't dead, just a little... cold. She couldn't see where the walls were. There was a mist, blue. Blue, with black, red, orange, as accents. Where was the girl? Could she call for help? The poor girl started to stumble, making should she wouldn't fall. To the poor girl's surprise, the- oh fuck. The wall was cobblestone, and the ceiling was low, shattered. There was a small, dirt, blood, and cum filled bed that belongs to the poor girls, who was dropped violently back into reality. The poor girls heard, feared even, the steps getting louder, and LOUDER! Now they know the o- so dreadful noises and the smell of his beer-BRANDED on to the girls' brains! It DESTROYED, mutilate, raped the world the poor girls molded to escape his abuse, no, his color- BLUE- the color of the blakets to block out the yellow rays out, them a red or orange accents, that reflects off the dust in the air creating a "mist." The fate of the poor girls has already been decided, and they have no say. No right, no obligation. The only right they have, is the right to die in filth.


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