November 13, 2009
By JinSang BRONZE, Frisco, Texas
JinSang BRONZE, Frisco, Texas
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"If I were rain,
Which connects sky and earth that otherwise never touch,
Could I join two hearts?"

-Tite Kubo (original haiku in Japanese)


This silence so loud--so ear-shattering. It makes your ears bleed. So plangent, resounding as loudly as if standing directly beneath a ringing church bell in a cathedral.

Nothing is heard, yet you hear it.

You hear them.

The screams. Their screams.

The screams of the souls who lost their lives...their purpose. The ones who lost their way--or took the wrong one.

They circle you, yet you cannot see. The continuous motionm makes you naseous--the salty taste lingering in your throat.

You see nothing. The darkness so black--so deep. You strain your eyes, searching frantically for something--anything. Whether it be inexplicably frightening or profoundly joyous, you look for it.

But your efforts are in vain. There is nothing there. Nothing--but darkness.

It surrounds you. It engulfs you. Little by little, it coils up your body, creeping for yet more to climb upon. It suffocates you, your heart yearning for the light it once knew. Killing you time over time, constricting the oxygen from your body. Tighter and tighter, it crushes you--even when there is nothing left. Darkness cares not whether you feel pain or relief in its methods. It is what it is.

You no longer hear...nor can you see.

Yet...the screaming...the shrieking of those unfortunate souls as yourself are forever reverberating in your ears--with no signs of disappearing.

The face of Pain itself creeps into your mind--settling its sharp, coarse roots into your memory. You see the grief-stricken masks frozen in place upon those once-humans' bodies. You see their cringing hands, the angular joints protruding from their skin. They reach out in the air, in all directions, flailing around for anything. To touch, to feel--to feel alive again.

But for what? For you?

For God? Salvation?

Slowly, ever so slowly, you begin to lose your mind, sanity soon to be beyond your grasp. But there's no telling how long it will take. Whatever time you've got left, it must not be much.

Time passes not in this darkness. There is no telling. You can't tell.


For it's already happened.

The author's comments:
This was written a while ago. In junior high, I believe..? Seventh grade, I think. Before you make any assumptions... No, I'm not that silly girl sitting in the corner of the room, acting like nothing good is happening to her or that "no one understands me." I don't wear black nail polish, I don't wear black eyeliner (I don't even wear makeup), and I most certainly don't have a stupid haircut that looks like I let my cat cut it. So, no, I'm not "emo," "goth," or "punk"--or whatever youcall it nowadays. (Though I prefer to leave labels to soup cans.) I'm a pretty normal girl.

Anyway, I revived it and all its potential, edited it, tweaked it out a bit--and here it is. Before, it was pretty horrible--ammateur. But now, I suppose it's quite well-written. Not the best I've written, but it's one of them.

Critique and comments much appreciated. Thank you very much for reading.

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