Comp.1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Composition One

Submitted: November 14, 2010

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Submitted: November 14, 2010

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Twigs and branches snap under your trembling feet. The long dark road ahead stems endlessly into the distance. Eyes blurry, you have trouble keeping your balance. A deafening silence suffocates you, as you try to move forward. The sheer isolation sends a chill through the base of your spine. Grasping your lifeline in one hand, and a clenched fist in the other, you can’t help but reflect on the past. Loneliness seems to enter you from every single angle. Looking down at your bruised and sliced arms for one last time, you reach your destination. This place. This one place. The only source of sanctity and peace you know. As you sit down on that old rotted tree trunk, the moon rises straight above your head. Those countless innocent nights spent here, this is truly the only place that you feel protected. As you begin to soak in this scene one last time, you try to conjure up memories that will sooth your frantic nerves. Nothing comes to mind. It is so cold that hell itself has frozen over, however, you are used to it. The numbing of your body acts as a small escape from the real world. Today, the escape will become final. You will become immortal. While the rest of this god damned world toils away at their monotonous lives, you will be in an eternal slumber, free of all this ruin. A single, solemn tear slides down your eye, and falls down to the ground, where it is quickly absorbed. You admire the strength of the braided rope, and are positive it will not let you down. A wave of solemnity passes through you as you gaze up at the moon, in all of its distressed beauty. You quivering legs push you up on top of the tree stump. A single strong branch from a tree near you piques your interest. You begin tying the knot. As you slip your trembling head into this hellhole, you are immersed in a twist of fate. The bond between you and the tree has become immortal. Suspended in the air, like some sort of god, you feel the blood rush to your head. You feel your fragile lungs beginning to lose their air. As every breath gets shorter and shorter, your eyes start to flutter. With almost angelic grace, your arms slowly lower. Your eternal radiance will never cease to exist. Goodbye. We will meet again when the long dark night turns to day. Rest in Peace Tori.


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