n00b
well, it's hard to find a very active writing community. so i'm testing this one out. my main goal is to possibly get some feedback on where i stand when it comes to writing. i typically write poems and sketches.
this is a short little sketch of someone taking drugs, losing control, and well, hurting someone.
Snap. Pop. Suction. The world animated all around me, my body felt numb, I could dance. The faces that followed, snapping, popping, I could see them in their suction. When I lose feelings to myself, the world goes along with me.
I could eat my hand if I wanted, but the emptiness in my stomach telling me an instant NO, eliminated the idea. I stood up, surprised by my own legs, holding me straight. Everyone mimicked me, standing, look of interest on their faces, staring at their limbs. The warmth in the air was unsettling; my friends were with me, their faces twisted as I'm sure mine was to them. I began to jump, high in the air as if I were flying, everything not falling from my site but swaying, as if I were a feather. Thoughts, so fast. All blood went through me, into my hands that were molded into fists. I swung, feeling so loose, like I was reborn with no aching bones or calcium deficiency. My fist, going through the wall, came out hurting my eyes with the vibrant red of my blood. I felt nothing. I felt immortal. Now, everyone, punching walls, vibrant blood shooting rays through the air like the sun during a drought. The room was too hot, no feeling, held down, the red was playing with my mind, my eyes. I was following outside, I didn't feel like I had lost myself yet but my inability to focus enough to count the people in front of me left my knees week, staggering to the floor. My stomach jolted, I felt an instant impact but no pain. No Pain. I knew enough that I had been kicked, and if I didn't get up, I'd be kicked more until the red would overflow my sight and enter my head. I stood; looking for the culprit kicker, anger raging faster than sense could be reached. I began to run, as fast as I could, feeling like I was being lifted from the ground, anger flowing into my pumping legs, sweat pouring out of my head like I was juiced by the air around me. I jumped and twirled in the air, my movement showing my thoughts, so mixed up, so complex, too much at once. A bat, a metal pole, a broom, a fist. Innocent civilian.
When I lose feelings to myself, the world goes along with me.
I swung, a sound let out of his mouth but I heard nothing. He could be begging for his life but I didn't care. He was all the contempt inside that built up into this moment, this one moment where I felt nothing and I wasn't the victim. I wanted his name, his identity, he was a fucking pig. I didn't need to convince myself, this asshole was in disguise, he had likely hurt me before like the rest of the world, so why make an exception. I believe in timing, obviously there's a reason why he happens to have the car that we want. More begging. Pathetic. I pulled the metalwhatever over my head and swung with every awkward anxiety I could reach, hitting him square in his begging face. No conscience, no feeling, no thought, just action. Anger. No consequence, this wasn't me. Surely they wouldn't think this was me.
any spelling/grammar erros, i apologize ahead of time for, :3
this is a short little sketch of someone taking drugs, losing control, and well, hurting someone.
Snap. Pop. Suction. The world animated all around me, my body felt numb, I could dance. The faces that followed, snapping, popping, I could see them in their suction. When I lose feelings to myself, the world goes along with me.
I could eat my hand if I wanted, but the emptiness in my stomach telling me an instant NO, eliminated the idea. I stood up, surprised by my own legs, holding me straight. Everyone mimicked me, standing, look of interest on their faces, staring at their limbs. The warmth in the air was unsettling; my friends were with me, their faces twisted as I'm sure mine was to them. I began to jump, high in the air as if I were flying, everything not falling from my site but swaying, as if I were a feather. Thoughts, so fast. All blood went through me, into my hands that were molded into fists. I swung, feeling so loose, like I was reborn with no aching bones or calcium deficiency. My fist, going through the wall, came out hurting my eyes with the vibrant red of my blood. I felt nothing. I felt immortal. Now, everyone, punching walls, vibrant blood shooting rays through the air like the sun during a drought. The room was too hot, no feeling, held down, the red was playing with my mind, my eyes. I was following outside, I didn't feel like I had lost myself yet but my inability to focus enough to count the people in front of me left my knees week, staggering to the floor. My stomach jolted, I felt an instant impact but no pain. No Pain. I knew enough that I had been kicked, and if I didn't get up, I'd be kicked more until the red would overflow my sight and enter my head. I stood; looking for the culprit kicker, anger raging faster than sense could be reached. I began to run, as fast as I could, feeling like I was being lifted from the ground, anger flowing into my pumping legs, sweat pouring out of my head like I was juiced by the air around me. I jumped and twirled in the air, my movement showing my thoughts, so mixed up, so complex, too much at once. A bat, a metal pole, a broom, a fist. Innocent civilian.
When I lose feelings to myself, the world goes along with me.
I swung, a sound let out of his mouth but I heard nothing. He could be begging for his life but I didn't care. He was all the contempt inside that built up into this moment, this one moment where I felt nothing and I wasn't the victim. I wanted his name, his identity, he was a fucking pig. I didn't need to convince myself, this asshole was in disguise, he had likely hurt me before like the rest of the world, so why make an exception. I believe in timing, obviously there's a reason why he happens to have the car that we want. More begging. Pathetic. I pulled the metalwhatever over my head and swung with every awkward anxiety I could reach, hitting him square in his begging face. No conscience, no feeling, no thought, just action. Anger. No consequence, this wasn't me. Surely they wouldn't think this was me.
any spelling/grammar erros, i apologize ahead of time for, :3