...Beautiful Pain...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Written in one of my blank moods...

Submitted: January 07, 2012

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Submitted: January 07, 2012

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Beautiful Pain

I am blank with lots of pain but blank. Breathing is the most difficult task. Pain is the most used emotion. Everyone cursing pain, never in once think that pain is the only thing actually keeping us sane and I am not talking about congenital analgesia here. We actually need pain, pain that drench our heart and bloodstains our eyes. We need it. I need the pain I am making myself suffer. I need it to minimize the suffering of my heart; to stop my ears from listening to my house draining in hell. I know it makes me look weak and I am weak but still I do try not to let it be discovered by giving myself pain in inconspicuous places. My head go dizzy and I faint.

I wonder how difficult it would be for people with congenital analgesia. They can’t feel the physical pain. How difficult would it be for them to bear the emotional one? What would they do when their parents are being insulted by their siblings; almost to the point of killing them when they are not allowed to interject? How would they bear all that emotional pain without having even giving themselves physical pain as an option. Or they would just kill themselves without even suffering the pain of death.

I can’t decide if they are lucky or unlucky. My head is spinning heavily. I decide that it would be time to stop my bleeding as the yelling has stopped. I run the water over my bleeding wound and watch as the crimson colored fluid soak the floor. What would someone do if they are suffering hemophilia? Their blood would not stop flowing. Even they can’t cut emotional pain with physical ones. I am so much luckier.

I laugh at my convincing reasoning. I am so much luckier; as if that changes anything? I close the tap and pick out the box of first aid to attend over my wound. My bottle of disinfectant was almost empty; it would not be much later that my mother would notice the empty bottle. I would have to replace the bottle with a new one with my pocket money. I have to use it in some way or the other anyways or they would notice I don’t have any friends at school.

I sponge the area of wound with disinfectant and covered it with sterile dressing and bandage. What about those who can’t afford the disinfectant? How would they bear it all? Or maybe they didn’t want the bleeding to stop? But, I can’t die. I need to live.

Some people consider pain as a wasteful emotion. It is not. Pain is your most reliable friend. No other emotion supports you in your most adverse times, no human, no soul, it is your pain. No matter what you do, you can rely on it.

Pain is the most beautiful emotion only inferior to love, though love is a very twisted one of the emotions.

I have been living in a hell in disguise of heaven for as long as I have lived. It camouflages itself so perfectly that sometimes it really feels like heaven. Though, I am pretty sure, even heaven should have a little pain. If it would not, it will not be a suitable place to live, for you can only feel happiness when you have felt sorrow before or how would you distinguish between them?

I once read a story about a man who lived luxuries of hell thinking it was heaven only discovering the truth of the place on discovering that he could not do anything in that place.

When I was younger, I used to feel like it would be so good, so much better if I didn’t have to feel anything but the positive emotions. Then I discovered that positive emotions are actually negative ones, only to discover now that the negative emotions are so hard to bear.

I wonder where I could stand on a level of having a pitiful life. I had no friends as a child but that was only because I was a tyrant and wanted to rule over everyone else. I was nearly sexually abused as a child too but there are several people who actually got abused. I wished for a happy family but what I got was a hell, but there are people who never even get a family. Am I better than them? It’s not that they are abusing me. It’s just that I can’t bear to see the face of the death standing right over their heads.

I could see a person’s death sometime before they were to die, not in a form but in form of fear. Fear is also a very beautiful emotion, at least according to me. I’m sure I have heard that the ‘beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder’. In my eyes every emotion is beautiful.

My eyes get blackened all of a sudden. I fear it is terribly near. Amidst my blinded eyes I run out of my room and in the drawing room. I try hard to see what’s happening, using my ears to see around myself.

All I hear is my mother and father’s silent wailing and my brother’s tears; I hear three subsequent gun shots and heard three bodies fall. In the succeeding minute I hear another gun shot that goes through my chest, from just beside my heart. I know I won’t die but the pain was enchanting and I let myself fall, gaining my eyesight in next second to see my sister-in-law carrying a revolver in her hand. I know she was a bitch and so three corpses sleep for God and one sleep for hell.

The one is me, blocked between life and death, not just because I was not to die with that bullet but because I need to live to punish that bitch. The enchanting pain can’t take over my senses this time.


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