It takes years for those heart strings to regrow, sparking life into them.
Your mind is a pool of emotions.
Regret. Melancholy. Anger. Anxiety.
Deafening pangs collide against the pillars of your head.
While your body suffers the torment.
Mind and body become one decaying space.
You say to yourself, “If no one loves or cares about me, then do I exist?”
It’s pathetic how we humans rely on others to confirm that we do exist.
It takes simple words to tear down the essence of one’s existence.
It’s been what 2 years since you surrendered
Yourself to this dead building. With its grey walls, grey floors.
The only colourful item are the windows. Is that why you sit at one and stare through it?
The staff seem generous but you think they’re demons in disguise. It’s their aesthetic voices and caked faces, isn’t it?
They gave up on persuading you to take your pills.
It painfully reminds you of your loved ones, who are now fragments of the past.
The thought of them rejecting you pierces your flesh that you feel your heart strings snap like a slingshot.
Sure there are others like Fear. Fear 1. Fear 2. Fear 3. All nameless. But the Fear who targeted you doesn’t want another Fear. Like the fallen angel himself, Fear doesn’t like competition. No, it didn’t cannibalise Fear 1, Fear 2 and Fear 3.
Fear would rather feed on victims than murderers.
Aren’t you listening?
Of course you can’t hear me.
Fear has damaged your ears and sight.
You had friends once. Family once. But Fear drove them away.
Your soul was drained by paranoia as one by one, your love ones drop off. You thought you could handle being alone. Like Jane Eyre. The image of a Mr. Rochester was like sunshine to you.
That was what Fear thought too when it was at this stage of crisis…before hope turn into anger. Anger into revenge.
But Fear doesn’t want you to play the murderer.
Read the books in the genre that you want to write in.
Fear whispers to your friends and family the very words that deafened and tortured its ears long time ago.
The very words that have been the catalyst of the Fear curse.
“This person is not normal. You must shun them. Leave them. Make sure your affection is targeted towards those who are normal and a convenience to you.”
No one knows who said this. But it was probably some person who is sitting by the fireplace and laughing at their victims.
A Jack the Ripper, but the murderer’s method is to mutilate a person’s soul until they become what the murderer says they are.
Yes, it’s true what they say.
Life is a vicious cycle. A repetition of so many emotions.
History repeats itself.
You. Once a friendly and charming person.
Your soul attracted Fear.
Fear, its corporeal body has grown transparent, has been wandering the earth, haunting people and luring them to the realm of isolation.
Where it’s cold, barren, soullness, melancholy.
This realm is a spirit itself like Fear. It encloses you through a building, isolated from the realm of the living.
Fear didn’t attack you. It attacked and corrupted your friends.
Fear is a cage.
It imprisons you. It’s your very own executioner.
Why does Fear do this?
No one knows. Some say it was a charming and friendly person
But others killed its joy, its goodness.
Leaving it soulless. A figure determined to crush other people’s spirit.
Hello! It’s been a long while since I’ve on here. I’ve been busy with my studies, reading 8 books at the moment, and writing new stories. I think it’s time for a new snippet from one of my stories which is untitled at the moment. Enjoy!
Pain shoots up and down, side to side around my head, on my head. It’s been…I don’t know how long. I don’t want to think it. About his hands, like claws, like a bear trap, trapping my hair in it. Yanking me upright until my skin screamed at him.
I stare at the table. Its surface sparkle in shapes of tiny stones which grew bigger as I stare, blurring my surroundings, clouding my mind. My eyes begin to doze off. I hear the TV switch on. Daniel’s favourite show is on. Some sports show or something. I should hate him. Yell at him. But I’m scared. What if he hits me again? Call me names? I should leave him. That bastard. Misogynistic. Worthless, arrogant bastard. Not educated. Everyone likes him for his money, not him.
The pain still burns, reminding me of what he did to me. Bringing the scene of him beating my face until my jaw snapped, popping my eyes wide. Suddenly realising that he’s the wrong man to be with…oh I want to punch him. Get him to taste his nature. See him cry. Beg for my mercy. See him scream. Swear.
I would be enraged more, with blisters bursting across my cheeks.