about 45 min ago i decided to drink a glass' worth of absinthe. 10 minutes ago it kicked in. the following is what i wrote -
"Where are you?" the boy said.
"In your head," the voice answered.
"How can you be in my head?" he questioned.
"I've always been here. You just weren't listening close enough before," the voice responded.
The boy paused and thought about this. The answer of the voice seemed to make sense. He was tired after playing all day. He really just wanted to sit on the couch and watch television.
"You can't watch TV anymore," the voice said.
"WHY?!" the boy protested.
"Because it will only waste your time. I have a lot of important things for you to do. If you sit and watch that stupid cube all day, you won't be able to get any of it done."
"What about Pokemon? Just sometimes?" the boy pleaded.
"NO! This is too important!" the voice yelled.
The boy began to cry a bit. He sat down on the ground and put his face in hands. He thought of his parents. Maybe they would understand.
"If you tell your parents, I'll have to hurt you," the voice said.
"STOP IT!" the boy pleaded.
"Don't believe me? I'll show you."
The boy's hand slowly moves away from his face. The boy watches with a horrified look on his face. He strains to keep control of his arm, but he cannot. His hand reaches onto the ground picks up a small, sharp rock. Then, he brings the rock over to his calf and slowly drags the rock against his skin. The skin slowly breaks and blood trickles down. The boy screams and cries harder.
"See, this is what will happen if you don't listen to me. Your parents, too. You can't tell anyone. This is what will happen to you and them if you snitch on me."
"O-okay," the boy says while sniffling.
"Now get up and go home. You're done with your friends. Forever."
The boy stands up. His head hangs low and his arms swing at his side. He walks back to his house as though he's going to a funeral. He kick small rocks as they cross his path. His eyes are still watery.
"FASTER!" the voice commands.
A teardrop leaves the boy's eye and splashes on the dry ground.
now here's the thing - that's not really any weirder than anything else that i write. however, i never written almost a page worth of material in only 10 minutes.
especially a page of material involving a tormented child.
VIVA ABSINTHE!
"Where are you?" the boy said.
"In your head," the voice answered.
"How can you be in my head?" he questioned.
"I've always been here. You just weren't listening close enough before," the voice responded.
The boy paused and thought about this. The answer of the voice seemed to make sense. He was tired after playing all day. He really just wanted to sit on the couch and watch television.
"You can't watch TV anymore," the voice said.
"WHY?!" the boy protested.
"Because it will only waste your time. I have a lot of important things for you to do. If you sit and watch that stupid cube all day, you won't be able to get any of it done."
"What about Pokemon? Just sometimes?" the boy pleaded.
"NO! This is too important!" the voice yelled.
The boy began to cry a bit. He sat down on the ground and put his face in hands. He thought of his parents. Maybe they would understand.
"If you tell your parents, I'll have to hurt you," the voice said.
"STOP IT!" the boy pleaded.
"Don't believe me? I'll show you."
The boy's hand slowly moves away from his face. The boy watches with a horrified look on his face. He strains to keep control of his arm, but he cannot. His hand reaches onto the ground picks up a small, sharp rock. Then, he brings the rock over to his calf and slowly drags the rock against his skin. The skin slowly breaks and blood trickles down. The boy screams and cries harder.
"See, this is what will happen if you don't listen to me. Your parents, too. You can't tell anyone. This is what will happen to you and them if you snitch on me."
"O-okay," the boy says while sniffling.
"Now get up and go home. You're done with your friends. Forever."
The boy stands up. His head hangs low and his arms swing at his side. He walks back to his house as though he's going to a funeral. He kick small rocks as they cross his path. His eyes are still watery.
"FASTER!" the voice commands.
A teardrop leaves the boy's eye and splashes on the dry ground.
now here's the thing - that's not really any weirder than anything else that i write. however, i never written almost a page worth of material in only 10 minutes.
especially a page of material involving a tormented child.
VIVA ABSINTHE!
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paulnikon:
Pole Dance
paulnikon:
