deluded.reality

What does it take for a man to kill some one? What does it take for a man to inhumanly rip apart a soul in such away it..it..? Questions I have asked myself many times before, and what they ask on the outside. So many times now the images role through my head again and again. It even haunts my dreams. The horrible and horrific nightmares from which I awaken, shaking hysterically. I would have thought by now that the shock would have passed, but I was wrong. I have been wrong too many times now. Too many mistakes have occurred. Would explain why I am here. Rotting.

Nobody cares, not any more anyways. I am already dead in their eyes. The people who cared have long moved on. I am but a memory to them, but this memory is very much alive. I have not died. I still feel pain and suffering. Not that they would know. They fake empathy. They fake emotion. None of them know where I am, and none of them care. I have been gone far too long for them too still care. Too much has happened.

The search may still be out there but it’s not for me. Not any more anyways. Locked up here for god knows how long, and still no one has found me. No one knows I am here. Know one. Well other than him. The one who started all this. The one who I am looking at now, and is always in my gaze. He knew I was here. He knew what he did. He knew why I am here rotting. He still knows I am here, but he knows in Hell where a soul like his would be after taking a gun to his head to escape what he had done. I hope he is suffering down there like I am right here.

I have assumed myself to the worse. To be honest I did that along time ago. Stuck inside this cell, which makes a medieval dungeon look like the Ritz. The stench of his disease ridden flesh and the blood on the walls is enough to make you go insane. Hell it has almost driven me to insanity, but after everything I am surprised I’m not insane already.

It lies in the corner, calling him a he now seems pointless and in some ways he always was an it, with nowhere else to go. It has been days since it took the gun to his head. Why I haven’t done the same thing I don’t know. Perhaps the fact that some one out there may care and find me, a fate that seems too unreal right now.

Their not coming. If they were truly searching they would have found this cell by now. Maybe I should just take the same fate as it, but maybe that is what it wasn’t me to do. This could be its plan all along. Wouldn’t put it past it. The things I saw it do to people. Destroy their souls to the point where they would want to end their own lives instead of him having to. Then again this seems to go too far for that. It looked scared when it pulled the trigger. Don’t blame him. The life it took to lead.

“Why the fuck am I still here?! Why the fuck am I alone?! I don’t deserve this! Why me?! What did I do to deserve this?! You did this to me! You locked me in here with you! You tied me to the chair and made me watch you take your own life! Why? WHY?!”

Shouting doesn’t work, especially shouting at a corpse. There is that gun again. In a way it torments me more than it did. Do I, don’t I. What if? I could end all this suffering. End all the nightmares about its previous victims. There would be peace at last. All I would have to do is pick it up and pull the trigger. No more.

Once again I wake up from those nightmares. This time though they were more vivid. More rough less. More horrific. Seeing that corpse rising up off the floor and doing to me what it did to its other victims. Have what it did to that little girl to me was just terrifying. At least it was only a nightmare for me. That poor girl. She didn’t deserve it, none of them did.

That’s it. I am going to end this. There it is that thing I can do to end it. All I need to do is pick it up, pull the trigger and I am out of here. The metal feels so cool in my hands. The tool to end it all gives off that sense of empowerment. I am in control at last. I can do this. I can escape this. I can do this. The gun against my head now. The gun cocked and ready. One pull of the trigger and no more. Gently squeeze the trigger.

All of a sudden a bright light hit that cell. A light at the end of a tunnel. It was over, just I wasn’t in control. The wall behind had collapsed, and when I turned round I could swear I sore and angel standing before me. For that brief moment I felt peace. But that peace wasn’t coming from the angel. The peace I felt was a bullet straight through my heart. The bullet fired from a Glock 23 in the hands of that so called angel. They had found me, but it wasn’t the justice I was hoping for. As I fell to the floor I fell in slow motion. Realizing but one thing; they had found me and all this hurt was finally over, but they had thought I was it, they had thought I was Him.

Scarecrow's Arrow

I like it; pretty dark stuff! I'd like to read more of it; find out what happened to land him in his predicament!

A few little things- in the quote above, the their should by they're (They are). Also, your phrasing it a little off on this line:


I have assumed myself to the worse.

Just seems a bit funky- maybe I have assumed the worst would work better? OrI have resigned myself to my fate.

deluded.reality

Thank you for the comments and i will get started on how he managed to get there.

aliceedelweiss

I'd suggest going over something before posting it. You have some general typos, spelling errors, what ever that could be caught just by reading over it a few times.

I didn't get very far into it, I lost interest. Just like the prologue, the beginning seems somewhat cliché. Try being original. I feel like I've seen this before... a lot.

Alice

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Hakeem

Hello deluded.reality. It is very bad not going before things prior to posting it here. You could have many mistakes that you didn't notice.

I don't think I was gripped by your piece, I was long lost in the middle and had to read all over again to get the meaning that you're trying to deliver to the reader. The ending is nice, but you badly wrote it. The piece is filled with stirring emotions that would show better if you wrote the piece all over again (WHAT???) and make it simple.

If you want any help, then I'll be glad to offer it. Here are some of the things that I noticed by scamming the piece:



(Always indent here)What does it take for a man to kill some one? What does it take for a man to inhumanly rip apart a soul in such a way? Questions I have asked myself many times before, and what they ask on the outside. (This sentence not related to the ones before.). So many times now the images roll through my head again and again. It even haunts my dreams. The horrible and horrific nightmares from which I awaken, shaking hysterically. I would have thought by now that the shock would have passed, but I was wrong. I have been wrong too many times now. Too many mistakes have occurred. Would explain why I am here. Rotting (This paragraph has no commas, it's all separate sentences.)


Nobody cares, *not any more anyways. I am already dead in their eyes. The people who cared have long moved on. I am but a memory to them, but this memory is very much alive. I have not died. I still feel pain and suffering. Not that they would know. They fake empathy. They fake emotion. None of them know where I am, and none of them care. I have been gone far too long for them too still care. Too much has happened. (Agian, this whole paragraph has no commas, it's all separate sentences.)


The search may still be out there but it’s not for me. *Not any more anyways.(*This sentence is repeated, a bad style in writing)Locked up here for god knows how long, and still no one has found me. No one knows I am here. No one. Well other than him. The one who started all this. The one who I am looking at now, and is always in my gaze. He knew I was here. He knew what he did. He knew why I am here rotting. He still knows I am here, but he knows in Hell where a soul like his would be after taking a gun to his head to escape what he had done. I hope he is suffering down there like I am right here.


I have assumed myself to the worse. To be honest I did that along time ago. Stuck inside this cell, which makes a medieval dungeon look like the Ritz. The stench of his disease ridden (???) flesh and the blood on the walls is enough to make you go insane. Hell it has almost driven me to insanity, but after everything I am surprised I’m not insane already(badly worded.)

It lies in the corner, calling (You can't change tenses.) him as he now seems pointless and in some ways he always was at it, with nowhere else to go. It has been days since it took the gun to his head. Why I haven’t done the same thing I don’t know. Perhaps the fact that some one out there may care and find me, a fate that seems too unreal right now. (This paragraph creates confusion from the pronouns. It..him..he..he..it..it..it..his. And to what does the "it" refer?).


Their not coming. If they (This is a bad start to throw this at the readers. Try to specify who are they. I know you meant the mystic aspect, but this is over done.) were truly searching they would have found this cell by now. Maybe I should just take the same fate as it is, but maybe this was what it didn't want me to do. This could be its plan all along. Wouldn’t put it past it. The things I saw it do to people. Destroy their souls to the point where they would want to end their own lives instead of him having to. Then again this seems to go too far for that. It looked scared when it pulled the trigger. Don’t blame him. The life it took to lead. (I can't to seem follow who you are talking about here.)


“Why the fuck am I still here?! Why the fuck I am alone?! I don’t deserve this! Why me?! What did I do to deserve this?! You did this to me! You locked me in here with you! You tied me to the chair and made me watch you take your own life! Why? WHY?!”


Shouting doesn’t work, especially shouting at a corpse. There is that gun again. In a way it torments me more than it did. Do I, don’t I. What if? (What does the sentence imply?)I could end all this suffering. End all the nightmares about its previous victims. There would be peace at last. All I would have to do is pick it up and pull the trigger. No more.


Once again I wake up from those nightmares. This time though they were more vivid. More rough less (I'm guessing you initially wrote it as roughless, but the processor you use corrected it to this way, right? I'm not going to lie to you I'm not entirely sure about this word, but I think that it is correct to written as a one word.) More horrific. Seeing that corpse rising up off the floor and doing to me what it did to its other victims. Have what it did to that little girl to me was just terrifying. (I didn't understand this sentence, because it's badly worded.) At least it was only a nightmare for me. That poor girl. She didn’t deserve it, none of them did.


That’s it. I am going to end this. There is that thing I can do to end it. All I need to do is pick it up, pull the trigger and I am out of here. The metal feels so cool in my hands. The tool to end it all gives off that sense of empowerment. I am in control at last. I can do this. I can escape this. I can do this. (Repeated) The gun against my head now. The gun cocked and ready. One pull of the trigger and no more. Gently squeeze the trigger. (Again, no commas!)


All of a sudden a bright light hit that cell. A light at the end of a tunnel. (This sentence is cliche and was used many times. Try to change it because also it does not relate to what precedes it.) It was over, I just wasn't in control. The wall behind had collapsed, and when I turned around I could swear I saw and angel standing before me. For that brief moment I felt peace. But that peace wasn’t coming from the angel. The peace I felt was a bullet straight through my heart. The bullet fired from a Glock 23 in the hands of that so called angel. They had found me, but it wasn’t the justice I was hoping for. As I fell to the floor I fell in slow motion. Realizing but one thing; they had found me and all this hurt was finally over, but they had thought I was it, they had thought I was Him.

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"The great art of life is the sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain." -Lord Byron