Conscious of a Broken Conscious

The rain poured that night.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

It was blurry. The red and blue barrage entered my cornea pounding it's way through every part of my head. The sirens wailed and wailed and wailed, playing like background music to my breathing. The floor was cold, but the red streaks that ran from her lifeless body flowed through my palms like fire. I looked upon her specimen in the center of my kitchen incredulously. The figure was a foreign concept.

I bore the hands of an unfamiliar being. Ones that contained an insatiable hunger. And in the midst of the loud echoes, the unrelenting criticisms, the blind skepticism, and the voice of the wretched, that fiend unleashed itself to her body. Grasping, slashing, ripping, and shredding until we were far into her silence. And when my silence was broken by those to pass judgement, I returned. But I am still not here. This fiend has left an emptiness, sitting in this enclosed concrete on murky floors with bars binding me for an eternity. These cold floors burn me.

Yes, it rained that night. And the downpour continues.

The End

2 comments about this exercise Feed