The Overwhelming Grip of Insanity

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A dark metaphoric story about the troubles of an insane man.

Submitted: May 20, 2007

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Submitted: May 20, 2007



Overwhelming Grip of Insanity



Author's Note:

What I account here is, and I so much hope so, all fictional. This story was inspired by the claustrophobic depths of the ocean floor. The warehouse is a metaphor for the confined area of the mind in which one can find himself trapped and abused by his own thoughts of fear. All descriptions and actions take place in the mind of one unfortunate person. It is to be noted then that this person did actually mentally kill himself. The killing of his son: one who resembles and mirrors himself, signifies the the killing his old self.

This story is dedicated everyone, and to his or her small portion of the brain that conceives of such dark plots and ideas, and to hope that few people will have such an experience as the character in this story.


The darkness of the warehouse smothered one's breathing. The smashed and empty crates, which lay scattered around or piled into tall menacing towers of wood, provided a nasty piece of work to maneuver around. A few sounds penetrated the absolute silence: that of the subtle wind which blew outside, of the eerie sounds that god only knows from what source, and the occasional scurry of rats. This was more like a dream than any other physical place. A stench of fermented drink and the stale air of a long enclosed area choked any who entered.


There were many of us trapped there, there...wherever 'there' was. No one made the slightest sound or movement, and not a silhouette of a man could be seen, but we could all feel, feel their horror and dread; feel their presence like a candle before it is blown out by a chill night wind. Everyone knew that they were surrounded, not only by others—who, like them had found themselves trapped in this hell hole—but by an unyielding fear.


 He wished he could get out! To leave this world of chill wind and uncanny stillness. Every footstep he trod bellowed in his ears like the crash of doom; but even louder than his steps on the hollow wooden floor, was the impetuous thumping of his furious heart against the very marrow of his soul.


I should, no, I must escape! Let not me be damned to here for all the world to laugh and scoff at my inability to move, to think rationally, to take action on my own part, for they would be right—and all the worse of it— because I was trapped, the silence, as thick as the air in a crowded tavern, held me at my place. I felt that if only everyone else around me would move freely, that I would be as if released from a spell.


Feeling, with trembling hands, a large, sharp pipe behind me, I slowly —for I was unable to do anything else—moved towards it. Hours; days; no, seemed to take me to get there, and I was sure that in that time, someone must surely feel my desires and realize my intentions. With the security of the rusty thing in my hand, I ran as well as I could, which to me seemed as fast as the wind carries the scent of a fresh rain; although to any other person who is not barred by their thoughts and free of the overwhelming grip that insanity withholds over the mind, my speed must have looked that of a hare, drowning in a cavity of quicksand.


With fear and dread of the demon which possessed me, I, raising the unwieldy weapon over my shoulder—that shoulder which for many years now has been carrying the weight of many mad and brilliant thoughts in my head— and with the force of a battery ram, thrust it into the body of the closest man.


I could not make out his features in the dark inner recesses of the warehouse, but I cared not, for the demon was possessing my every action and thought, I had no defense against him, he would come bursting out of me at any given time, and then subside, and I would have no recollection of where I had been or what I had done. But recently, my mad escapades and reality had blended into one horrific nightmare.


As I violently jerked the rusty pipe from the pail body, it turned, face over to me, and in my horror, I saw the face of a murdered man. And little of what old self was left of me knew and I despised myself, for at the killing of an innocent man, I should feel such joy and happiness at my crime, which was caused by hateful demon within me! What torment I felt in that moment of recognition, the pain struck through my soul like a lightning bolt, except, there was no more soul to strike, for I was dead. I was killed by the joy and blissfulness that I, or rather that malicious demon within, when had realized that I, with my own demonic fear and anger, had led me to kill my own son!


Now I will walk with the outside world, to be treated by as it willed, but I was gone. No feeling, no caring for others; I was doomed to live a dark and solitary life behind the steel bars of my own wicked and cruel deeds and forever under the dark damnation of my accursed companion...



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