11ady
in
casketbase
⊕ fanfic ➨ a torn up note consigned to the wastebasket @ 3am ★ gundam wing/gintama ★ une → takasugi
I dreamt that I ended you. Heaven knows why I'm choosing to write this down or why I'm even addressing it to you. I have no intent of ever letting you lay eyes your eye on it. Catharsis, perhaps. It's been awhile since I've woken up in a cold sweat. I don't want to talk to myself. Society frowns on that. They call you crazy for that. So now, I write to purge myself of this.
In my dream, I invited you over for some reason. I don't exactly recall why. All I remember was feeling this intense dislike hatred loathing at the very pit of my stomach. A fire in my belly. You had done something. Something I couldn't forgive. But what? I don't remember that either. As you were wont to do, you claimed my couch upon swaggering in, stretching out on it like some stray cat claiming its territory. I didn't say a word. Instead, I retreated to the kitchen to fetch a glass of rice wine.
At this point, I really must marvel at my stupidity. I don't have any rice wine. I don't drink. That should have tipped me off. In that reality, I kept a well-stocked liquor cabinet. How could I have seen any of that as real? On a ship run by improbability, belief has to be suspended constantly. Did I suspend mine on a hangman's noose?
White powder. I remember white powder. The wrong glass. Pouring rice wine into a crystal goblet is a faux pas, isn't it? White powder, crystal glass, rice wine. That was the cocktail I offered you as you lay there. You sneered at my offering. That's not an expression easily forgotten. Nonetheless, you took the wine glass from my hand and drank deeply. Spilled a bit on the carpet, actually. You perched the glass on the coffee table without ceremony, wiping your lips and smirking at me.
A former sadist. You claimed it wasn't possible to be one. In this dream, you were right. Not poison but paralysis. It overtook you seconds later, wiping that self-satisfied smile off your face. I watched you choke and shudder, staring blankly the whole time. The human body moves in strange ways when it's seized by chemical torture. Electric impulses compelling the nerves of a dead frog to make muscle move. I think I heard the sound of joints creaking in that flurry of movement as limbs bent in ways they shouldn't. Your eye didn't close throughout the whole ordeal nor did it shed a single tear.
I didn't leave the kitchen with a knife in hand but there was one in my grip the moment you stilled. The handle felt like it belonged in my palm as I advanced and It's a blur. I want it blurred. Sticky and red all over me. I prefer guns and explosives for a reason. The stickiness persisted even as my eyes opened to cold darkness. I stumbled toward the light switch, checking myself, looking over my night gown for any sign of red. Sticky, cold sweat. I didn't realize I was gasping until I slumped against the wall.
What are you? What are you doing to me? Losing my mind again is not an option yet something inside me clamors for whatever it is that you possess and I lack. But what? And why? Why would I delight in ending someone's life like that? I haven't felt that way since
It was just a dream and this is a pointless exercise.
In my dream, I invited you over for some reason. I don't exactly recall why. All I remember was feeling this intense dislike hatred loathing at the very pit of my stomach. A fire in my belly. You had done something. Something I couldn't forgive. But what? I don't remember that either. As you were wont to do, you claimed my couch upon swaggering in, stretching out on it like some stray cat claiming its territory. I didn't say a word. Instead, I retreated to the kitchen to fetch a glass of rice wine.
At this point, I really must marvel at my stupidity. I don't have any rice wine. I don't drink. That should have tipped me off. In that reality, I kept a well-stocked liquor cabinet. How could I have seen any of that as real? On a ship run by improbability, belief has to be suspended constantly. Did I suspend mine on a hangman's noose?
White powder. I remember white powder. The wrong glass. Pouring rice wine into a crystal goblet is a faux pas, isn't it? White powder, crystal glass, rice wine. That was the cocktail I offered you as you lay there. You sneered at my offering. That's not an expression easily forgotten. Nonetheless, you took the wine glass from my hand and drank deeply. Spilled a bit on the carpet, actually. You perched the glass on the coffee table without ceremony, wiping your lips and smirking at me.
A former sadist. You claimed it wasn't possible to be one. In this dream, you were right. Not poison but paralysis. It overtook you seconds later, wiping that self-satisfied smile off your face. I watched you choke and shudder, staring blankly the whole time. The human body moves in strange ways when it's seized by chemical torture. Electric impulses compelling the nerves of a dead frog to make muscle move. I think I heard the sound of joints creaking in that flurry of movement as limbs bent in ways they shouldn't. Your eye didn't close throughout the whole ordeal nor did it shed a single tear.
I didn't leave the kitchen with a knife in hand but there was one in my grip the moment you stilled. The handle felt like it belonged in my palm as I advanced and It's a blur. I want it blurred. Sticky and red all over me. I prefer guns and explosives for a reason. The stickiness persisted even as my eyes opened to cold darkness. I stumbled toward the light switch, checking myself, looking over my night gown for any sign of red. Sticky, cold sweat. I didn't realize I was gasping until I slumped against the wall.
What are you? What are you doing to me? Losing my mind again is not an option yet something inside me clamors for whatever it is that you possess and I lack. But what? And why? Why would I delight in ending someone's life like that? I haven't felt that way since
It was just a dream and this is a pointless exercise.