Happy

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
What is it?

Submitted: May 09, 2015

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Submitted: May 09, 2015

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Happiness

 

  The portal opens, the creatures and ghouls spring out with all their demonic fury. Through the eyes of a boy, they leap down to the hatchet in his left hand. Lazors and Fire spews from his finger tips as it swings and impacts the bark. The wood screams and watches the sky and echoes throughout the neighborhood. A Passerby or two come across the boy, focused on the force he exerts. They watch for just a moment and in that moment, they will feel the force they're viewing, and it feels good. The rubber upon the handle rubs against the boy's un-gloved hand, water beads from every pore and forms bubbles on the palms. Chips fly and pierce the earth, saliva mixes in as he seethes. Huffing in any amount of air he can, he swings his arms wildly, mercilessly. Theirs no smile, no laughing, no letting up, the limbs fly away and the blood starts to bead out. hours passed since he had started and the tree had been struck to the core. Stopping for a bit and letting his gripping hands hang, his teeth clench and grind together as the fury builds inside more like the river of Hell boiling with the bodies of the suffering and screaming. The trees core only presented more a feat, but why care, he was giddy to let his frustration out on something that would rot away eventually. Every other moment as he swung the dulling blade, he would think "why am I doing this, why does it feel so great. The pain, the force, the rage. I'll just keep swinging, and chipping away. I'll keep hitting! and hitting! and hitting-" his thoughts become his voice, whispers covered by the noise. 

His arms hang and his hands stained with dried blood and blisters. Dropping the hatchet, sitting on the ground and looking at the tree that now hung by a sliver of support. "I did it" he thought. "I said I'd do and so I did it!" He shouts. He winces a little as he gets up and picks up the blade. With all the rest of his force, he kicks the tree and sends it toppling down. Slamming the hatchet into the side of another tree, he walks away, dizzy, thirsty, and his hands stung. He holds his bleeding palms under the faucet and makes no pained reaction at the intensified burning, he laughs a little. Laughs a little and collapses onto the couch, happy he released himself. He wanted to chop another and another. He was happy to be angry, he was angry and gripping his fists tighter and tighter.

 

 


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