Permanent
((Got inspired by the song Hurt, damn me and my listening to Johnny Cash. This is just a ficlet, nothing to do with RP. nothing whatsoever.))
This is very dark, don't know where it came from. But I really like it. Enjoy.
He stood there in front of the mirror. His body was perfect, without blemish. No scars, no signs of age, nothing. And he hated it. No evidence of the wars he's fought in, the battles he's won, the battles he's lost, the fights he's been in. His hands weren't even calloused from hard labor, nothing was permanent on his body except for something close to perfection. Not even the spot where the claws came out was evident.
Death wasn't even permanent for him. He tasted it, teased it, but never obtained that hopeless oblivion of nothingness. He'd tried many times. Something at his own hand, some by others, each time took more and more of his pride away from him.
Drinking wasn't permanent, the drunk feeling faded just as fast as it came. Drugs hadn't worked either. It was like a cruel trick played on him. He couldn't have the things so many people took for granted. Love certainly wasn't permanent, not for him at least. He found it countless times and each time it was taken from him or denied.
Deep down he hated everyone for his inadequacies, for his inability to do a simple thing like scar. All of his scars were on the inside, eating away at him like a parasite, tearing him to shreds slowly. He could feel it, like a worm crawling beneath the skin, eating away the man and the animal that lived inside of him. Sometimes it drove him to insanity and he tried to dig it out, well knowing it was in his mind. His claws had driven into his own skin more times than he could remember, trying to kill it.
Darkness was his home, it was where he lived and no one knew it. Probably because they didn't care. They all thought Logan was okay. Oh how wrong they all were. He was just waiting for that day when he snapped and all these so called friends would be but another victim of the Wolverine.
Because friendship, wasn't permanent.
This is very dark, don't know where it came from. But I really like it. Enjoy.
He stood there in front of the mirror. His body was perfect, without blemish. No scars, no signs of age, nothing. And he hated it. No evidence of the wars he's fought in, the battles he's won, the battles he's lost, the fights he's been in. His hands weren't even calloused from hard labor, nothing was permanent on his body except for something close to perfection. Not even the spot where the claws came out was evident.
Death wasn't even permanent for him. He tasted it, teased it, but never obtained that hopeless oblivion of nothingness. He'd tried many times. Something at his own hand, some by others, each time took more and more of his pride away from him.
Drinking wasn't permanent, the drunk feeling faded just as fast as it came. Drugs hadn't worked either. It was like a cruel trick played on him. He couldn't have the things so many people took for granted. Love certainly wasn't permanent, not for him at least. He found it countless times and each time it was taken from him or denied.
Deep down he hated everyone for his inadequacies, for his inability to do a simple thing like scar. All of his scars were on the inside, eating away at him like a parasite, tearing him to shreds slowly. He could feel it, like a worm crawling beneath the skin, eating away the man and the animal that lived inside of him. Sometimes it drove him to insanity and he tried to dig it out, well knowing it was in his mind. His claws had driven into his own skin more times than he could remember, trying to kill it.
Darkness was his home, it was where he lived and no one knew it. Probably because they didn't care. They all thought Logan was okay. Oh how wrong they all were. He was just waiting for that day when he snapped and all these so called friends would be but another victim of the Wolverine.
Because friendship, wasn't permanent.