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A Writer's Soliliquy
My pen quivered over the blank piece of paper, sweat greased its metal frame. Could I release the monster I had formed in the recesses of my mind? It clawed at the side of my skull with angry, wild gashes. I had a headache all of the time now. A creature that ate to kill and killed to kill, how could I release a creature like that?
Its bloody mouth salivated at the thought of escape. Could I release a creature like that to wreak havoc, despair, horror, and sorrow among my pages? It was the worst thing I had ever created, a beautiful thing in its horrifying elegance. I could imagine my carefully morphed characters shredded at its long metal talons. Their awful death cries wailing out in the alleys, screaming to me why? Why? Why? They sobbed as the life ebbed.
Before the death rattled into them it would begin to feed, all the sweat and tears I had given the character would meld into its starved body; making it stronger. There would be no avenging their death; it would only continue into a longer and longer line of attempts. Until weary and shocked I would leave this story, unwilling and unable to finish. So the creature would ravage the shrinking population of my doomed town forever unimpeded and unhurried. There would be no end for such a creature only the warm smell of the next fresh kill and the awful pang of an unquenchable hunger.
I could shred the pages of its home but it would never die. It would continue to haunt me. Now as the unappeasable and eternal ghost that stalked in the shadows of my mind. It would hunt the small fragments of new characters being born in my mind, killing with no mercy. Enjoying the weak cries as they feebly disappeared.
There would be no mercy. There would be no hope. There would be no others, as it jealously diverted my attention back again and again to its awful work.
Why? Why? Why? I would cry out, begging for an answer and an end to the massacre of my friends. There would be no answer. And when my eyes closed and my pen dropped for the last time it would smile. It had won, it was the last standing. The only survivor in its self-made massacre and this would make it smile.
It would pause then, looking back to my receding figure walking away down the soft quiet dunes of death, before making its decision. It would step in my direction and I would stand still waiting in bated breath for the hunter’s decision. It would take another step and I would begin to silently weep. The smell of tears was irresistible to the creature and it would run after me in the loping gait I had bestowed upon it. Reaching out with the claws I had written into the second revision then it would snag me in the curved hooks I had pondered over for days. Ripping me open in one moment I would flop into the tides like doll, with the needled teeth I had been so proud of creating all those years ago. And then I would suffer the awful death that had taken all of my creations. Lying there mouth open as the salty spray from the tides stung my glazed eyes and the ocean would pull at me dragging me into the surf.
The creature would not allow even death to steal me and tug me away from the water. I would not die here though I would only suffer each of my friend deaths while it fed. Fluttering eyelids would reveal each of their accusing faces hovering over me allowing this to happen. I would be allowed to die this way for this abomination. My idea had shown no mercy so I would receive none.
I thought all of this, I knew all of this. I ask then where the dilemma is. The dilemma is such a magnificent creature can not forever be locked away. Some day it would escape, and all would powerless to stop it. The question was not if it would kill but when. And here I sat with the burden of such a creation wondering if I could spare the future by giving it every thing I had loved and coddled into life.
Yes! You must! My consciousness fought.
No! You can’t! My heart wept.
For the future of uncreated genius! My brain declared.
How does that help you? My greed whispered in my ear.
Decide! My impatience screamed
Let’s compromise. My indecision slurred
“Be quiet!” I screamed into the empty room. Instead the voices got louder,
For love! One called out.
For hate! Another growled.
For revenge! One chuckled.
For yourself! One sneered.
For others! One preached.
“Shut up!” I whimpered and fell from my desk. “Just shut up!” I whined as I curled tightly in the fetal position. “Be quiet!” I shrieked into the room covering my ears, jamming my palms over them.
Two men in white entered the room and tore the paper and pen from my hands.
“Time’s up” one man grunted
“No I must save us!” I shrieked reaching out frantically. I now knew what I must do. The man who held me refused to let go and pulled me away from the desk and out of the room. I stretched out to the other man until my skin burned.
“Please!” I begged up to the men. They ignored me. One held me still on the floor while the other stuffed pills into my mouth. They pills were to slow my mind and dull my thoughts. I could not take them.
I screamed and bit hard into the man’s palm. He winced but refused to move his hand unless I swallowed. I sobbed but swallowed the pills. They felt like rocks going down and burned when they touched my stomach.
They man pulled away and wiped his bloodied hand on the shirt smearing it. He swore at me when it he wrapped the bottom of his shirt. My vision blurred and I felt sleep blanketing my brain.
“You don’t know what you’ve done.” I wept to the man as I slackened and spread out on the floor.
I dreamed blurred nightmares of unforgiving faces and dripping blood from needled teeth.
The next day they would find me with broken shards of pen surrounding me and would know that they failed. They would know that I wasn’t crazy. They would know that I didn’t belong here with the white cushioned walls, white long sleeved jackets and unsympathetic smiles. And that I hadn’t needed those pills to cure something that was never wrong.
Now I had succeeded, the monster could hunt no one but me on the dunes of death. They would find me surrounded by dried blood on the tiled floor with broken shards of pens stuffed into my wrists and know they failed. They were bad but in the end good had prevailed.
In the end I had won. Now no one would have to suffer.