Post by Prince Piper on Oct 17, 2014 7:54:50 GMT -5
Word Count: 521
Sanity: 5%
Sanity: 5%
Stars and voices. Both very distant, both very bright. Pinpoints of attention-drawing material woven onto a blackish canvas high above. Unreal, cosmic, not to be separated from the other. I can touch neither, why shouldn't both be imaginary? Prince pawed at the sky from his place in the crook of a dumpster and a stone wall. His eyes shone the stars' reflections on their glazed surfaces, long tired of struggling to rip apart one plane of existence from another. As far as he was concerned, everything he saw was legitimate. If he saw them, how could they not be? There was a young girl not far away, her manifestation long departed but her voice and her memory causing the vision to linger. Sight of the mind's eye didn't bend to rules of reason. The fact that even a moment's mindplay could last as long as the viewer toyed with the idea was commonplace in schizophrenia. He heard her over and over again. She was not there, he knew, but she had been at some time, for he saw her now. Perhaps, a ghost of the past. But no, that little girl had lived in his bedroom for as long as he could remember, which he knew must be nearby for her presence to be made so clear.
Many words escaped through a small opening between his lips, nonsensical phrasings derived randomly from the million times they had been used to form syllables. It was all perfectly clear, to him. To anyone else, he was someone to be avoided, a misfit of society that somehow posed a threat to one's children. Ironically, the latter was true. The former, though... well, loneliness could lead a person to this state, so there was no way avoiding someone so sensitive would do any good. Better to go over and say hi, break them from their wild musings and fleeting flashes of imagination. "Love... went to the store and... carton of jam... three dozen, I said, three dozen... no mate, no harm..." The girl seemed to nod, there or not. She seemed to understand and accept. She had already left, but she could speak to him long-distance. Distance was not a problem with ghosts. How silly it would be for a ghost to have trouble getting past a wall. They should just be able to float through, right, pass on to the other side as their nature should warrant them? What was the use of storybooks if they taught such fallacies? Why should children be misled, when dealing with the defining characteristics of phantasms? What was Halloween when ghosts were limited by mundane things like walls... Walls. Walls. Walls.
These walls can't hold me! They can't! Prince looked feverishly at the stone surrounding him, pressed himself more securely against the dumpster. They would not take him. They would not. But they did and he felt their resilience twofold as they pressed against him. He grabbed his throat and suffocated himself, so that they could not. They had him. They were suffocating him, convincing him it was the only way, leashing him along to his doom. He would not be a slave. As his eyes fluttered shut, his grip loosened, and he felt the coming-ons of sleep.
Then, black and messy paintstrokes.
Many words escaped through a small opening between his lips, nonsensical phrasings derived randomly from the million times they had been used to form syllables. It was all perfectly clear, to him. To anyone else, he was someone to be avoided, a misfit of society that somehow posed a threat to one's children. Ironically, the latter was true. The former, though... well, loneliness could lead a person to this state, so there was no way avoiding someone so sensitive would do any good. Better to go over and say hi, break them from their wild musings and fleeting flashes of imagination. "Love... went to the store and... carton of jam... three dozen, I said, three dozen... no mate, no harm..." The girl seemed to nod, there or not. She seemed to understand and accept. She had already left, but she could speak to him long-distance. Distance was not a problem with ghosts. How silly it would be for a ghost to have trouble getting past a wall. They should just be able to float through, right, pass on to the other side as their nature should warrant them? What was the use of storybooks if they taught such fallacies? Why should children be misled, when dealing with the defining characteristics of phantasms? What was Halloween when ghosts were limited by mundane things like walls... Walls. Walls. Walls.
These walls can't hold me! They can't! Prince looked feverishly at the stone surrounding him, pressed himself more securely against the dumpster. They would not take him. They would not. But they did and he felt their resilience twofold as they pressed against him. He grabbed his throat and suffocated himself, so that they could not. They had him. They were suffocating him, convincing him it was the only way, leashing him along to his doom. He would not be a slave. As his eyes fluttered shut, his grip loosened, and he felt the coming-ons of sleep.
Then, black and messy paint