[align=center][div style="width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; font-family: times new roman; letter-spacing: .6px;"]tw // mentions of murder , blood , gore
what was death?
it was a question that was lingering in the back of your mind since you were a child. you were only nine when you experienced death for the first time. mama had gotten sick, you were still learning things every day and something as big as this had gotten all of your emotions and thoughts twisted into utter confusion. sometimes when you’re trying to go to bed you can still remember the gnawing and hopeless sensation you felt in your chest as you sat with her quietly in bed. you didn’t know how you were suppose to feel, death was an entirely new concept to you and all you knew was that it was meant to be a sad occasion. you didn’t feel sad though - not at first, at least. you felt numb. that same numbness would carry on into your teenage years. “your company is enough, my dear.”she would say to you as you would try to make it more peaceful for her. mama was dead before the sun came up.
you were eighteen the first time your friends made the plan to kill somebody. the idea terrified you completely, but you found yourself going along with it. that’s what you did best, you were a people pleaser and couldn’t stand the idea of one of them being upset with you.
you spent hours down by the river after, washing your hands repeatedly in hopes to get the feeling off of them. there was blood on your hands, there always would be now. you sobbed as you scrubbed away, the blood had been washed so long ago, but you could still feel it on your hands. no - it wasn’t just like a glove that stopped on your wrists, it was all over, you could feel it everywhere and it was eating away at you. you helped kill an innocent person. you couldn’t catch your breath and you wanted to scream until your throat was sore and in pain, you would do anything to feel something other than the overwhelming guilt that was quickly washing over you.
you had hoped that it was only a one time thing, but it wasn’t. this was the new hobby that bonded the friend group together. you so desperately wished that they would grow bored of it and that they would find something new to do, but it never would happen. the plans and kills would become more creative and the innocent girl you once were was slowly being pushed away into the darkness. with each kill, you would ask yourself the same question you thought when mama died.
what was death?
death is your boyfriend pushing the victim to the ground and telling you to finish the job. death is the laughter of your friends echoing behind you when they notice the tears starting to form in your eyes and you hesitate. death is your hands violently shaking the moment you take the knife and shove it into the mans heart, watching as his eyes stare up at you in fear. death is the realization that starts to set in.
you are death, and you don’t want to be.
what was death?
it was a question that was lingering in the back of your mind since you were a child. you were only nine when you experienced death for the first time. mama had gotten sick, you were still learning things every day and something as big as this had gotten all of your emotions and thoughts twisted into utter confusion. sometimes when you’re trying to go to bed you can still remember the gnawing and hopeless sensation you felt in your chest as you sat with her quietly in bed. you didn’t know how you were suppose to feel, death was an entirely new concept to you and all you knew was that it was meant to be a sad occasion. you didn’t feel sad though - not at first, at least. you felt numb. that same numbness would carry on into your teenage years. “your company is enough, my dear.”she would say to you as you would try to make it more peaceful for her. mama was dead before the sun came up.
you were eighteen the first time your friends made the plan to kill somebody. the idea terrified you completely, but you found yourself going along with it. that’s what you did best, you were a people pleaser and couldn’t stand the idea of one of them being upset with you.
you spent hours down by the river after, washing your hands repeatedly in hopes to get the feeling off of them. there was blood on your hands, there always would be now. you sobbed as you scrubbed away, the blood had been washed so long ago, but you could still feel it on your hands. no - it wasn’t just like a glove that stopped on your wrists, it was all over, you could feel it everywhere and it was eating away at you. you helped kill an innocent person. you couldn’t catch your breath and you wanted to scream until your throat was sore and in pain, you would do anything to feel something other than the overwhelming guilt that was quickly washing over you.
you had hoped that it was only a one time thing, but it wasn’t. this was the new hobby that bonded the friend group together. you so desperately wished that they would grow bored of it and that they would find something new to do, but it never would happen. the plans and kills would become more creative and the innocent girl you once were was slowly being pushed away into the darkness. with each kill, you would ask yourself the same question you thought when mama died.
what was death?
death is your boyfriend pushing the victim to the ground and telling you to finish the job. death is the laughter of your friends echoing behind you when they notice the tears starting to form in your eyes and you hesitate. death is your hands violently shaking the moment you take the knife and shove it into the mans heart, watching as his eyes stare up at you in fear. death is the realization that starts to set in.
you are death, and you don’t want to be.
[align=center][div style="0px; width:450px; height:auto; text-align: center; font-size: 9pt; line-height:13px;"]and when i find that a knife's sticking out of my side
i’ll pull it out without questioning why. — info
i’ll pull it out without questioning why. — info