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Mitch
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[size=1][font=rockwell] This is rough. Any errors found will be appreciated.[/font][/size]

[center][size=3][b]...[/size][/b][/center]

[size=1]Blood spattered onto the stark linoleum, rusty and red. I looked at my hands, saw the blood leaking from them, too. Saw again and again in my head as I punched Wess in the head, beat him into a purple, bloody, bruised mess.

I closed my eyes, screamed in my head. Tried to understand what was going on, why I was doing this. Why it felt so good, why, at the same time, it was terrible.

In frustration, I screamed, this time not in my head. I grabbed at my head, and dug and dug into my skull.

Then I opened my eyes. And everything was different in some way. My mouth tasted different, the blood on my hands said different. My mind said different.

I looked at the ground. Wess was on it, bleeding from the head. Because of me.

I began to shake and shake and shake. I fell into the corner of the empty gym, half leaning and half sitting, and began to cry. I kept looking over at Wess as millions of different images spinned around in my head.

Wess laughing, leaning in and whispering into my ear. Wess drinking a Diet Moutain Dew, grinning, smiling. Wess, younger, clutching his injured knee. Wess.

Wess was flying through my head like rain falling in and down. Like the blood coming out of his head, slowly congealing on the ground.

I cried in the corner forever. I wanted to die.

Then, out of nowhere, Virginia came in. She was wearing a night robe, black, dark. Her hair was frazzled, hanging over her head, obscuring her face.

I looked up at her, looked at her sighing, looked at her crying.

"Charles, what have you done?" she said, but her voice wasn't hers. It was loud, it echoed, it cringed and dug. It was painful to hear her voice. My ears rang and clanged from her voice, fell and thumped.

I screamed in my head again. Felt something else inside of it. Something else whispering, saying. Something else clutching my mind and dragging it. It was powerful, potent. Made my head ache and numb with its presence.

I shut my eyes, dug into my brain. Tried to place where the pain was at, tried to feel it. But I couldn't. It was too all over, too strong. It was all over, erratic, flying, eating, digging.

That was when her arm touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes, but what was tapping me on my shoulder wasn't Virginia anymore. It was me.

It was then that I realized why that voice dug into me like it did, why that voice hurt so much. It was my own voice, my own angry voice. It was my emotional voice, the one that was full of hate and spite.

I stared directly into my own eyes, pried into them, tried to see what was there. And as I looked, they turned to a dark red, like blood. Only it wasn't like blood. It was orange, red, and black all at once. It was more than color, it was more than just an eye. Just looking at it was hypnotizing, paralyzing, painful.

What I saw in the eye caused my heart to beat harder and harder. What I saw in my eye, this thing's eye, it wasn't human. It wasn't earthly. It wasn't holy. It wasn't anything. It was something dead, yet breathing.

I saw a retched thing. It looked like a raven, it was black all over. But its eyes were dark red, too, just like my eyes. It was bleeding for its head, just like Wess. And as I looked closer at the eyes within my own eyes, this raven-like thing's eyes, I could see many different faces staring at me. There was my own face looking at my own face looking at my own face into an endless eternity. There was Wess, Wess smiling. Wess's eyes full of pain, hate. Wess crying, tears coming down.

I also saw Virginia. In her eyes, there were crucifying crosses, all full of blood, and a sprawled figure nailed and black on it. But it wasn't Jesus. The thing on the cross had wings, it had horns, a tail. It also had eyes that were glowing, they were black. Black, yet glowing.

I got lost in my own eyes, spasmed and bled on them.

All of those faces were staring at me. All of my friends, all of my enemies, all of my spite, my hate, my faith, my love, all of it.

I screamed. In my mind, in my head, on the ground, to the sky. I screamed.

And, soon, I wasn't looking in my eyes anymore. My eyes blinked, a quick darkness, and then I was back in the gym.

And now, this time, on the floor laid both Wess and Virginia. Virginia's entire head was mangled, I couldn't recognize it at first. But I could see her frazzled hair, and her black robe.

My heart fell into my mind. I can't explain how mangled Virginia was. Her hair was full of blood, it was pure red. Like it had been dipped in her own blood. Her arms were nailed, just like that thing on the cross had been. Her brain matter was all over the side of the floor, all over everything in the gym now. It was on the ceiling, on the walls, on the doors, on the windows. Everywhere.

And in the back of my mind, I was still screaming, but something else was louder. Pleasure. I felt so much pleasure, it washed over me. I went from crying, from sobbing and tears, to smiling and grinning.

Even through all of this, I was still me. Everything in my mind was still me. But there were more than one of me inside my mind.

There was the part that was screaming the loudest then, the part that was wailing against the other. There was the part that was crying, sobbing. There was a part that was slurred and incoherent. There was so many other parts. Yet through all of these different parts and sides of something like a coin, I was still just one person.

I was smiling now, smiling at the brain matter all over the entire gym. I was smiling at Wess on the ground. Wess's pool of blood was becoming still yet larger and larger. It almost now was a small puddle about the gym. I smiled at that, too.

And I felt pleasure. Pleasure like I had never felt before. But deep inside I was far from pleasure, I was screaming. But the pleasure was louder, it was beating, it was more. .

In a haze and buzz of pleasure, I walked over to Virginia. I bent down, put my hand on her robe. Felt the cloth touch my hands, and fuzzle as I felt touch. From just this simple touch of her night robe, I felt so much pleasure. It shook up my spine and into my mind, body, soul, and spirit.

I rolled her over?she was on her side. My eyes fell over her form, and slowly my eyes came to her eyes. And then again, in her eyes, I could see millions of other Virginias looking at me. One had a cross, was clutching it in her hands. Another was holding a heroin needle, was going to inject. Still another was laughing, looking at something that was in the sky.

There were others, too. Some that looked more like monsters than Virginias. But I blocked those out, didn't let them in.

When I finally left her paralyzing eyes, her hypnotizing eyes, I came to the top of her head. Or what was left of it.

I reached out, grabbed at the marred and hell-blown mess of what was her brain. I felt it touch across my skin, felt the pleasure as it did. I started to feel sick. Like I was going to throw up. The feeling was in the back of my stomach, my heart. But it was there. As far away as it was, it was there.

As I moved my hand from what was left of her head, a piece of the brain matter stuck to my hand. I ran it between my fingers, felt its feeling on my hand. It was rough yet soft at the same time. Like worn sandpaper.

After rubbing it in my hands for awhile, I brought it up to my eyes. Looked at it.

And as I looked at it, it began to make images appear in my head. The crosses again. Only this time, I was looking at the crosses through some type of window. It wasn't glass, and it wasn't reflecting. It was invisible, yet there at the same time.

And as I looked out of this window-like thing in my mind, the crosses began to move, like trees rustling on a moving train. Soon it began to go faster and faster. Soon all I could see was one cross that was making a trail after trail.

Then the image went black. The brain matter had fell from my hand as I had been lost in my mind. I was back in the empty gym again.

The first thing I noticed was that the blood from Wess's head was at a much higher level. It was almost to my knees. The smell in the gym was now blood's smell. The smell of desire, thirst, hunger. It danced in my mind.

I looked at the blood on the ground, and suddenly I bent down. I licked the blood in my mouth, sloshed it in. It tasted like rust, like worn paper. But it didn't taste like blood. It tasted more like dull and stagnant punch, like my Mom had always made when I was younger.

It tasted good, but its aftertaste was pungent. Its aftertaste was like blood, only not as strong. And drinking it made me more thirsty, made me have more desire, made the voice in the front of my head scream even louder. It was now screaming so loud that I couldn't even hear the other wail, the other sad wail. I felt for it, but it was gone.

I sat there and drank more and more of the blood. After a very long time, I was full of it. My stomach was regressing from it, though. It was becoming more thin and thin.

I pulled up my shirt and there was barely even skin there anymore. It was almost all bones, emaciated feeble bones.

That feeling of wanting to throw up was becoming stronger. I could feel it starting to get almost as strong as the endless scream that had been ahead of everything.

But it didn't get as strong. It came to about half the feeling of the endless wail, and stopped. Just stopped like that.

And as it balanced out and only became about half of the viscous scream, suddenly I was almost head-deep in the blood. It was almost to my mouth now, almost there.

I couldn't even see the gym anymore, all I saw was the blood. The blood everywhere.

It was now to my mouth, yet I could still breathe some how.

The blood didn't feel like liquid, it felt more like something solid. But it wasn't solid, and at the same time, it wasn't liquid, either. It felt more like nothing, but I could feel it. It was sloshy, heavy. Like a ten ton weight. And through all of this pressure, through every hard breath, I was drinking more of the blood-like stuff. More and more.

I was beyond full, beyond pleasure. I didn't know what I felt anymore, and I can't even begin to explain it.

Everything felt heavy. The scream in my head, the feeling that I was going to throw up. The blood all over my body. Everything was heavy.

There was only one thing that I held onto in the very back of my mind, one thing that wasn't overweighed by every other feeling I was feeling. To get out of the gym. Get to my locker.

My mind said there was something in my locker. That I had to get there.

So I began to swim. But I wasn't swimming. I was both walking and swimming at once. I can't even begin to explain it, just like everything else. But it was like walking and swimming all at once.

It was heavy, this walking and swimming. Just like almost everything else was like then. But I was slowly, very slowly, making progress.

I couldn't even see. All I saw was red. But I followed my instincts. Went to where I went.

And, after forever, I came to a door.

The door was rusty, red with the blood. The blood was dried all over it, coated in it. Like skin, it was falling off, but it was drying just as fast.

I grabbed the handle, opened it. Felt the cold steel, the flaky blood touching my hand.

Once the door was opened, the blood all over the gym began to pour out. It was slow, though. Like a snail leaving its gooey trail.

And I could walk again.

I came into the familiar hallway from the gym to the commons area. I walked slowly, but without fear. I was still smiling, still feeling so much pleasure. The pleasure was beating, coloring everything in a dancing array I'd never ever felt or seen before.

Coming into the commons area, I was surprised to see it mostly empty, except for a few seats taken here and there. It was also dark in there, the lights were mostly dimmed. I could see, but not without looking and waiting for my pupils to adjust.

From one seat, I could see two shadows, playing in the darkness. I came to them, looked down at what they were doing, curious.

They were holding on to each other tightly, and shaking. Shaking like I had been when I was in the corner. And they were both looking to one another's eyes, just like I had. They were both looking and lying in the exact same way, the exact same fashion, only they were parallel to one another. Very close, but parallel.

From this startling revelation, I took my hand, and moved one of them. His eyes met to mine, and, again, I washed away in my mind.

This time the screaming voice in my head was so much louder that it felt like my entire body was just going to explode. But I held it down.

What appeared in my mind was gruesome. I was in a dusty attic, and the two people in the darkness whom had been next to each other were there, too. Except they weren't.

They were stuck in between the wall of the attic. And, as I looked closer, they were quite in pain.

Both of them, it seemed, were interconnected in some way, in some how.

It had not been long, when, soon, they were chopped directly in half by the force of the floor on them. And they began to bleed together, the blood splashing down from one and the other at exactly the same angle, edge, place, and every manner. It was a horrid site. Their intestines, their excretions were all over the floor. And just like Wess's blood, they were now bleeding all over, not stopping.

I blinked again, and I was back in the commons area. Still in pleasure, I smiled at their two fallen figures. They were both, as in the image in my mind, bleeding at the same manner exactly. The whole commons area was now filling with their blood. And, as I peered at my hands, they too were bleeding. But only crusted blood. On my hands I could see now four different colored bloods in my pleasure. They glowed and bloomed in my hand, each a different hue of red than the other.

By this time, I was very far gone. My head's incessant humming had driven me to some new plain. Some new nirvana, some new joy so powerful that it cannot be described in any word, image, face, or anything.

My lust, desire, want, it was all overpowering. But as I walked from the fallen figures, to reach my locker, the feeling in the very back of my stomach suddenly fell through. The feeling that I needed to throw up was, suddenly, overpowering. Even more so than the scream that had turned and exploded in my head.

I began to stumble, for I was sick. Perhaps it was the pleasure that was making me sick. I cannot be certain. My mind was humming and beating like a dead, sputtering beat heart. My vision was fading, blurring.

Suddenly, as I was almost to blackness, my stomach churned. It wasn't a light churn, not at all. It was forceful, painful. I tried to hold it back, keep it in my throat. I managed to do so about half way to my locker. But then, I couldn't bear it any longer.

I barfed forcefully. The pain was excruciating, numbing, killing. My whole stomach felt like it was being vomited out.

Not to my surprise, I barfed out the blood that I had swallowed so much of. And not just a little, no. I barfed about twenty gallons of it out. It was very painful, like being hit with a bat again and again and again. Every chottle and churn was another trip into pain. It took a very long time.

When I finally got rid of the eating feeling that I needed to vomit, the entire ground was up to my knees in blood. It was a combination of all of the different hues of red. My eyes danced on them.

The wail was mostly gone now, about as strong as it had been so very long ago. I could now feel my own self again. But I was too devastated, too worn down to feel much more than the numbing and pain of my head and entire body. I came to the door into the library and sat down, tired.

I began to cry again, feeling how horrible it was what I'd done. I'd killed four people. Two of them I didn't even know who they were, either.

I was beyond scared. Beyond anything. Everything was now very surreal. Nothing felt like it had happened. But I knew it had.

After resting long enough for my strength to somewhat return, I began to approach my locker.

I came to the bay, took a left to where my locker'd always been.

But, it wasn't my locker. My locker's number had always been 107.

The number on this locker was 567. I stared at it uneasily.

Even more uneasily, I began to spin the knob, meaning to go to 13. But as I spun it, it landed on 5. It was very odd.

At this point I was very confused. I stared at the 5 on the knob a long time before deciding to spin it again.

This time, as I tried to move it to 27, the second number in my usual combination, it landed on 6.

I stared.

Then I spun it again, trying to move it to 49. It ended up on 7.

My hand rested on the handle of the locker, and, very slowly, very uneasily, I pushed it up.

It went, to my surprise.

Opening the locker, I braced myself for anything, anyone. But there was nothing.

The only thing in the locker was a small, black pistol. Dried blood also dotted it, too, like some fungus. It appeared someone had been here before me.

I knew what I was supposed to do. My entire body screamed and yelled with it. The almost dead wail that'd been so apparent and so loud earlier even whispered to me, moaning like banshee.

My hand very stiff, I took the black pistol. I felt its jagged side-grips on my hand. Felt its weight and power.

I checked it for ammo. And, of course, it had ammo. I checked its safety. And, of course, it was off.

It was all set.

Wincing, I put it against my head, my hand lightly on the trigger. I closed my eyes, eased on the trigger, the button to the end. I felt my whole inside go as I pushed it all the way in.

There wasn't a loud bang. There wasn't anything.

I took it from my head, surprised. And as I checked it with my eyes, it was surprisingly now a cell phone.

I looked in awe. It was black, just like the gun. The number on it, just like the locker's combination, the locker's number. 567 was dialed in it. All I had to do was press send. I did just that, not hesitating this time.

I put it against my ear, heard it ringing. It rang and rang, and, eventually, there came a click as someone picked up the phone. I closed my eyes, and let out a long, dead sigh.

"Hello," I said, "is anyone there?"

Silence. I felt my heart go dead.

"Hello?" I said again, louder.

"Charles," said a very far away voice. A very dead voice. "Nice to hear you."

"Who is this?" I searched in my mind for who it could've been. Tried to match the voice with someone I knew.

"Isn't 567 a wonderful number?" said the voice. "Charles, don't you remember. 567. You should know what it means."

And, suddenly, I did. I stood dumbfounded, my eyes still closed.

"Charles, you can open your eyes," said the voice, "go ahead, open them."

"First tell me who you are," I said.

"I'm you," said the voice. "Now open your eyes."

I couldn't open my eyes. I couldn't. I didn't want to see it again. All the faces. All of it. I relied on my senses. And, as I pushed my ear, I could hear the click of a gun. Just like the one I'd had. I screamed, fell backwards, hitting the locker, falling inside of it.

And, as I came to in the locker, I wasn't where I thought I'd been. It'd all been in my mind I realized as I looked at the dust dotting the floor. I laughed. It'd all been an illusion.

And, as the cop came into the room, pointed his gun at me, I stopped laughing. My heart and entire being fell in my chest.

"Come with me," said the cop, "stand up now, put your hands on your head."

Slowly, I did, as I realized what I'd done.

I'd called 911 myself. At least I'd remembered something, though. 5 is for man, 6 is for the devil, and 7 is for God.

I've been in jail ever since. Haven't touched any dust, either. [/size]
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[b][size=1]
Can't believe no-one's posted yet..
*blames size of it* ;)

I think some parts of it are really well done, and other parts.. aren't. And at the beginning, it almost had a poetic feel to it, lol. I thought you might have done that purposefully until I noticed it changes into a full-on story afterwards.

I think you used some words too many times in one bunch, like the 'walking and swimming' part. But in other places the repetition wasn't so of-putting.

I like the whole story plan though. Although I think the way you described the ending was not as it could have been (Like you yourself think).[/b]

Woah. Believe me when I say that wasn't supposed to sound so negative o_O[/size]
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[size=1][font=rockwell] You know what I find funny? That repetition makes the character more realistic. You can tell by reading it he's insane, lol.

Yeah. I think I'm going to rework this when I get some time. Think of a better ending. Thanks for posting, Jeh.

I think it's the size of it, too, that's putting people off. But really, once it starts rolling it isn't too long, is it? I hope not. Oo.[/size][/font]
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Oh my gosh.

I know you had warned me before reading it. Considering all the junk n crap the English teachers put us through, plus the King and Crichton I read, I was ready.

Well, but for the gore and eerieness, anyway. Once I got started, I couldn't stop.

You told me how it was based loosely off of Sara's dream. The dream essence is there, with the surreal moments of incomprehensible events. What really got my attention, kept my attention, was the human factor. How the main character still searched for an answer, still held some sanity in the depths of the craziness.

And the multiple Charles. I think the part that actually had a profound effect on me was:
[quote][size=1]"Charles, what have you done?" she said, but her voice wasn't hers. It was loud, it echoed, it cringed and dug. It was painful to hear her voice. My ears rang and clanged from her voice, fell and thumped.
....
It was then that I realized why that voice dug into me like it did, why that voice hurt so much. It was my own voice, my own angry voice. It was my emotional voice, the one that was full of hate and spite. [/size][/quote]
There is just something about that that I identify with so strongly.

Was the ending based on a song, I take it? *points to your sig* I've been known to write the tiny small story based on a song I've heard. I'm grappling with whether the ending was perfectly neat and tidy, or too neat and tidy.

Excellent job, Mitch.
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....wow

Thats really, really, emotional. I actually felt like I was in the part of Charles. I've experienced something similar, but I saw it happen, not actually doing it....if there were a hall of fame for works on OB, this should definetly go there
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[size=1][font=rockwell][spoiler]Well this is how I see it. The dust is some kind of drug, I'm not going to say exactly which, you can say for yourself.

Through the whole thing he was hallucinating. He was hallucinating he was in his school, that he was in the gym at first, as you saw. But by the end, he'd realized he wasn't.

And the reason he was put in jail was because he killed Virginia, Wess, and those other two people.

He blocked out when he killed them, he was also hallucinating as it happened. So he just blocked it all out as people do with things. But he did kill them. You'll remember he'd see them on the ground after remembering something, or going through a flash in his mind. That was him blocking it out.

That's how I see this thing. But you can see it however you want.[/spoiler]

That's very rough, mind you. I could cover so many things on this story. It's so deep. But just to give you a small view of it so you can know your own.[/size][/font]
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Hm, I was just wondering, Mitch--do you actually [i]know[/i] that you're a post modernist?

Anyway, it's good writing. I can see improvement in certain areas. Some phrases like saying a voice "cringed" don't really sound right. I can go into detail if you want. But, this gritty style I've been seeing from you lately really serves you well.

The fact that my name is in there makes it all the more disturbing.
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[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Mitch [/i]
[B][size=1][font=rockwell]I could cover so many things on this story. It's so deep.[/size][/font] [/B][/QUOTE]
[size=1]Modesty is dead.

Hm. It's an interesting story, Mitch, but using the name's Virginia and Charles really bothered me. Every time their name is mentioned I think of Charles and Ginny from OB, which makes things very strange. Have you ever written a story about puppies and sunshine? That might be a nice change of pace for you, and I wouldn't mind if you named the puppies Charles and Virginia. Heh.

A small complaint I have is that you start nearly every sentence with "I." Yes, this is written in the first-person perespective, but you always have to be careful about how you structure your sentences. Good work, though.

-Shy[/size]
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[size=1][font=century gothic][color=gray] To me, the repetiveness of this story is great. It makes Charles appear that much more insane. I'm certain that it is annoying, but it's just what happened when I wrote this.

I do not write happy things. I will say it now and I will say it again. Don't even worry about the names. The Charles has nothing to do with the Charles here on OB, and yes, I did use Virginia for Ginny's name. I won't deny it. Charles even saw crosses in her eyes..and Ginny's religious. So that's where that came from.

I'm glad you sort of liked it.[/color][/size][/font]
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I think it's awesome. I would say more, but I find myself somewhat in awe, lol.

Ok, now I'm ready...

While I suppose the dust could be seen as a drug(and in fact, that makes the most sense), I would've seen it as the blood; since, in his hallucinations, he's so obsessed with the blood. Or you could flip that and say that the dust is a drug and the blood in the hallucinations represents not only the actual blood of his victims, but also the drug that caused his hallucinations.

I'd say his attempt at opening his locker was his actual dialing 911, and I'd say the gun was what he used to kill Virginia. I say that because it says her head was mangled almost beyond recognition. That would indicate the use of a high-powered weapon such as a gun.

The dusty attic could represent the actual room he was in(I'm seeing a hotel room, for some reason)...the adjective 'dusty' perhaps representing the amount of the drug(represented, as previously suggested, by dust) in the room or used by Charlie; or it could represent the amout of blood already in the room from Virginia and Wess(if, as previously suggested, dust represents blood).

The school scene could be his memory of Wess and Virginia. The story gives the impressions that the three were friends beforehand. Maybe that's where they met and hung out a lot. I could see the nearly empty commons area as a mental expression of loneliness or even boredum.

The thing that throws me off is the other two victims. I can't figure that part of it out.


-Justin
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  • 4 months later...
I know that this is really old, but I am bringing it back because of Mitch's mentioning of it in the Human Minds thread in the Lounge.....


Mitch. Eh. This is an...awesome story. I do not know what to say. It is creepy, and warped, yet.... good. A most interesting read. I would concur with most of Justin's reasonings. Mabe he killed those other two because they were there? I suppoise the only person who can answer this is Mitch. I liked it, even though, Quite frankly, it creeeped me out.
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  • 3 weeks later...
[color=deeppink]
Wow.

I'm reading this at 6:15 am on no sleep, while listening to Daft Punk and Disturbed. Could I get anymore weird? But anyway...

This was amazing Mitch. The insanity, the gore, the brutality of it all, absolutely screaming at the world. The symbolism, imagery...it's all beautifully done. I agree, the repetitiveness adds to the madness of the character, his sick obsession.

The end was intresting. I thought that he had been sitting there all the time, just inside his own mind. So I was thrown off by the whole 'put in jail' thing. Then I went and read how he actually had killed them, and I then I got it. A hallucination upon a hallucination upon a hallucination. Very nice.

Okay...I'd write more, but my mind feels like wasted dead grey matter. So, great job, you rock. All that good stuff.

-Karma
[/color]
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