Mansfield 35

September 12, 2009
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I want to vomit. I want to expel every toxic festering lump of meat and s*** floating inside me. But it has to be into a toilet because otherwise how can I watch it go away and how can I feel cleansed? Every personal demon, every bug of self-doubt and self-loathing, the constant inadequacy I've felt since I first watched the other children hit the ball further and faster then me, is going to be flushed away. Those years of accumulation, gone forever. And good riddance, right?

Oh, and the people that will join them! The woman who left without touching me, without talking to me, without even writing a note with that flowery signature that looking back, makes me despise her more. What was her name? Who cares, she's going into the toilet anyway. My family, who I could never do anything but lie to and disappoint, will be glad to be rid of me. Mother doesn't have to cry, Father doesn't need to be ashamed, and Sister and Brother don't need to try to help. My friends, how many were there? Three or five? I think that they are being tossed away too. No sense in keeping people around who would want to go into the sewers and stuff all this back into me.

Everyone else I've known gets no special mention. The acquaintances, scammers, liars, attackers and hurt and hurtful lovers all get pushed out in one colossal, forgetful blob of bile. But that woman? My family, my friends? Each and every one will slowly, painfully be forced upwards, almost blocking my throat entirely. It's going to be agonizing and violent.But I am a determined man. They will leave me. But I wouldn't be totally gone yet. I will look at those lumps of memories and humanity and feel a tinge of regret. But as an excited man on TV once said, "Everything must go." Oddly, that will be one of the few coherent thoughts I have as I lean over that toilet bowl and heave and retch and cry from the burning in my throat and the fumes of it in my eyes. "Nobody ever got nothin' without some work,"as they say, not that I've ever met they.

It's going to be long, it's going to be painful, and I may not get everything on the first time around. But I will keep going. I'm going to keep leaned over that toilet until I am nothing at all, save for brain, bone, skin, and muscle. When that's all that's left I'll be happy. No, wait, "I'll" is a bad word choice. I left myself in the toilet. The person that comes out of that bathroom is going to be a light, light man. Lighter than I could ever be.

His first sight will be my entrails and organs sharing the bowl with those silly things that I'd been destroying myself with. He'll think, What use was all that? And the answer is none, none at all.

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AnnonymousFate said...
Nov. 9, 2009 at 7:41 pm
Wow, you have a great way of describing things. So vivid. :) And you are not a a shameless attention harlot
Fayrouz This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Nov. 14, 2009 at 8:05 pm
a very sobering read i gotta say. you have good imagery...if i were you, i would try to create a super impressive line at least twice in there. like, something that hits sounds like he is dying in this...dying the second time around almost, like he knows this is could say something like "you would think dying the second time around is easier, but it is not."<br /> idk.<br /> i'm trying to help!<br /> Check out my work?
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