Today's Empires, Tomorrow's Ashes. (asscake) wrote,
Today's Empires, Tomorrow's Ashes.

a short story

It's refreshing isn't it? Stained finger nails and a pair of shaky wrists you can't rid yourself of. That same feeling you got when you were younger, that rush from a circus ferris wheel and a mouthful of cotton candy. The summer afternoon's passed and the bikes, laughter, and the sound of skateboards crawling along rough concrete go with the drifting sun. Now all that can be seen - a front patio and a sidewalk leading to a dim light-post about ten foot steps into the middle of your front yard, and a world of black surrounding it - this dull ball of off-yellow light touches only the last slither of driveway on the right side, leaving your vehicle completely lost some where out there, only feet away, but a universe apart, even as wide-eyed as you've become.

Dark circles cover your eyes like a night out on the town gone wrong. Mascara, eyeliner, a mesh of blue, purple, and gray eye shadows complimenting each other by bleeding together leaving behind a black-eye masquerade. Simply, you just havent slept in a long while. Could be days; Chances are something's effected you further back than that, and it's safe to say it's taken longer than a few mere weeks. Brittle, glossy hair and a shrinking, though unexcercised body leaves behind one obvious conclusion - you've consumed very little over a period of weeks, and moved even less - but why?

There comes a point in every persons life when they realize they need a change of pace for better or worse. For you it may have been piling four pounds of dirt on a half alive twenty-something all because he was giving you trouble on a bad day, whom you bumped into at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Burrowing the opposite end of a hammer into the back side of his cranium when he had his eyes placed else where - washing your windshield and pumping your gas all the while. Soon after, dragged by limbs into the back seat of your car, he's left unconscious and you're checking for the shovel in the trunk. Two tire marks and a trail of dirt in the air, the gas nossle off and the pump hose on the ground touching the soil, spilling unleaded gasoline into the earth not far off from where this unsettling incursion took place.

And now, now, now, now after taking it this far you witness first hand that you can't bring yourself to kill this person, or even bury them any further, spastically throwing the shovel on the body as they lay in tears, curled up, shaking in sheer confusion and bleeding from the back of the skull to the puddle of blood leading to the ear canal from the sever concusion not fifteen minutes before, right outside your blood spattered, gasoline soaked vehicle. Whether you act blindly to this or not, it happened. And a shuffle of tight laced boots can be heard at your back door - a small break of silence becomes the calm before the storm.
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