this was a piece i wrote for writers group... the subject was: to speak or not to speak, that is the question...
It is rather cold in here. This dark room, only candles lighting the walls. Barely able to give off defining light. What is this loud cracking soud. Not quite thunder, but in here, this rapturing sound could easily be mistaken for it. The pleasant scent. That scent I smelt a hundred times before. It is sweet and pungent. Making me froth at the mouth. I want it but know if I ask, I will not get it. -crack- Another wave of the scent wafts in my direction. Where is she? My lover... She was here a moment ago. Now, there is me, just me, the cracking and the scent. Should I call out for her? No... Not after what happened last time. But then again I asked for it... This room is so full of love and hate. It seems unable to decide. Maybe it's a personal reflection. I never truly was able to decide on much. -crack- Another overwhelming sensation floods me. Gasping for air as it seemed to shock me into realization... I am unable to move. Warmth surrounds my wrists and ankles... They feel heavy... Stretched outwards. All I can see is the candle flame bobbing and weaving, as if mocking me with its freedom. I envy that flame, yet I also pity it. It will come to be extinguished much sooner than it wishes to be. Unable to speak out and defend its very existence. I guess I am more fortunate. Then again under the circumstances, it seems otherwise. -crack- That sweet intoxicating smell has flooded my nose. It drives me to the brink of extacy. I can feel it saturate my very being. It pours from me. Viscous and free flowing. Warm and sensual. It pleases me to know that it comes from me. I am unsure as to whether it pleases her, should i ask? -crack- This time I only let out a slight muffles cry. Maybe it is hatred and not love that drives her. No... I could never believe that. It is love. It has to be. She wouldnt be in here if it wasnt for love. -crack- This one isnt as loud, nor is it as strong... The smell is fading. It's cold again. There is no heat. If it wasnt such a familiar place, I'd swear it was the arctic. I cant feel my hands nor my feet. The ropes are cutting the circulation, causing blood to trickle down. My back raw from the deep gouges. I cant tell how bad they are, but i know the cold sweat is stining. The bit in my mouth has my dental mold, my spittle. I dont know whether to tell her to stop or not. Should I tell her that I cant take anymore, or to keep going. It feels so good, but I know that I am going to far. Does she know? Should I tell her? To speak or not to speak... That is the question...
Micha_Xaquz · Sun Oct 30, 2005 @ 06:38pm · 4 Comments |