A Sea of Daffodils

January 2, 2011
By Singer1127 SILVER, Bellevue, Washington
Singer1127 SILVER, Bellevue, Washington
8 articles 0 photos 3 comments

The sea was lifeless and lazy in the void of the sky that day. The water–gritty, dull, grey–the sable surface of a filmy mirror, void of any reflection. An ocean of blankness on a canvas unprintable. The beach was but a continuation of that emptiness, varied but only different from dryness. The ocean was strangely mystifying and palpable to the grandeur workings of my soon to be cruel thought mind.

He came into my view as his skull shadowed the sun and a flurry of mellow yellow light sprayed out from it like the sable circle of an eclipse. He was looking more like a daffodil with an orange center and sunny sprays on all sides. The boy held a single item with him, a large spiral of colors on a stick; a lollipop. He conveyed me to the addiction, which I feel ruined me–the cause of all of my loss, all of my burden, all of my hatred, all of my sins, the horrible horrendous and gross addiction to a most disgusting substance, sugar. It is the crazed abusive hysterical object of every crime that will end me up in hell.

The boy wasn’t a bother to me, at any point, in the beginning. We ran our lives in separate seclusion, as he did not understand nor utter a word–the complete of sentient. I had never been an unhealthy brute; I had even sworn off the absurdity of alcohol–the stuff tastes worse than salt water! But it was he who showed me the wonders of succulent sugar.
He required that I bring him sweets, for otherwise he would throw ferocious fits of fury, as if he had already consumed mass volumes of glucose and the hyper-activeness that came with it. I wanted to please him for, somehow, I grew fond him, as he did me. I called him Mort–
short for Mortimer. He was my pet, whom I cherished in the way that an outdoorsman might feel beloved of his dog, and I made certain that he and I would get our treats.
The sugar was no better than a drug to me. I abused the substance as some might abuse opium and tobacco, it latched on to me in the same way. I was crazed and hyper as I continuously traversed my sugar-levels. It was appalling and the most utterly horrific of addictions that I could have learned! He was a youth, who was healthful even as he consumed the glucose and the energy that came with it. It was much the opposite for me! I grew intensely hyper and energized to destroy everything within my path like a consuming conflagration. I grew to be a furious hateful horrible human being-turned-monster! I know that the ferocities of the gross incidents I enabled could be entirely ascribed to the crazed sugar-addiction which possessed more than just my soul.
His affection of me disgusted me convulsively in my hyper state being. I wished nothing–but to rid myself of his obnoxious actions. I remember thinking, He is a waste to me, nothing leaves his lips, nothing is absorbed through the wretched film of his eyes-nothing captivates his idiotic head. I felt, at those moments of deathly cravings and wild over-energetic fits that nothing mattered–but the consumption of sweet delicacies. The sugar-abuse affected my every action, and I never ceased to consume it.
I came home bloated and staggering to my room holding my belt–the belt that I was forced to unbuckle–the belt that was no longer outsized enough to reach around my waist. As I slipped in, I distinguished the brilliant colors of the sky, vast airy landscape graduating from a deep purple black like the galaxy enveloping the stars to a piercing lemony yellow, near the water’s horizon, the mellow tint of daffodils. The sea was an exact fluttering mirror of the world above it, but somehow duller…somehow emptier.
A second passed before Mort entered; he was by then excruciatingly comfortable with going to all corners of my home. He flailed his arms up to the sky in his madness over knowing that I was, at long last, in his presence. I was drunken with the sugar scavenges of the day, and I would not put up with him! The adrenaline pumped through my limbs. My ears burned and steamed–as my flesh boiled–as the rage of my anger was only fed more by the energy I had acquired through the sweets; I flung my arm at him, the arm with the belt, the buckle ripped through his ear, he fell to the ground, fumbling away, holding the ear.
I saw the Ear. His ear had been torn through like a piece of cloth–the edge a hideous ragged indigo-black color. The Ear taunted me, seemed to whisper out the words that the Mort could not express. Why? Why? Why? Why? Oh why? , it poked. Incessantly jabbing at me and revolting my body–bone through flesh. It made my heart skip a beat, my palms suddenly balmy, my fingers wet as sponges. I was maddened and wild. I could not even bear to look at it, and so couldn’t bear to be within any range of Mort. From then on, whatever previous hatred or disgust I felt for Mort was tripled-quadrupled daily, as the Ear mocked me with its tattered look. Seeing Mort timorously try to hide from me only intensified the burning hate I had of that Ear. My hate for Mort only made me want to feel lost in the energy of the glucose more, worsening my condition. The sugar-abuse grew my temper, but I was only human, what could be done? All I could think was to get rid of the boy without the neighbors knowing, but they would know, oh– of course they would know!
I let him out; let him get grimy in the grainy sand, trying for his benefit to cool my rage and hate in the crashing dizziness following the hyperactive. But I could instantly tell that the whole of my surrounding was much similar…almost the same…as how it looked that other day….How could that be? The only difference: the ocean view seemed enlivened for once, completely engulfed in the color of a black-indigo…the same as the Ear! My temper stayed even at least with him out my sight, but my realization sped the hiccups of my heart. My stomach growled, wishing for another jelly bean, simultaneously my fury heated passionately. My blood raged in fast fire and I ran rapidly at Mort. He was a dense dog, stumbling away farther, and farther, and farther, up, and up, and up. I stopped him at last when we reached the top. He stumbled on the cliff and edged backwards. I saw what was to come. He fell. But the Hand quickly caught him. I will be honest; my first reaction was to pull him to safety. But the Hand let go. He fell down, and down, and down to the water. In attempt to prevent my capture, I quickly skipped home and sucked on a lollipop; we had run out of jelly beans.
I sat, watching the clouds come. Heavy and heaving the growing clouds came. They stormed away in battlement for hours, one against another vigorously. Fearless knights ready for all the bloodshed and the deafening clashes of their swords–I could hear. My lids dropped. The fighting, I knew, raged on from the sounds and the sparks of light that were palpable to me. All fell to silence. It was drained of the blood and battle, as I was drained of rage and rigor–knowing it was over.
The sea returned–dull and dreary, lulling and lifeless, grey and gritty, vacant and vivid of a single reflection. An ocean of blankness and a canvas once printable.

The author's comments:
This is meant as a parody if not hyperbole of Poe fantasy and horror. The idea of the Black Cat is the very baseline for the story. I want readers to see it through an open mind and the humor is sarcastic irony and is conveyed subtly. Mostly the story is an example of how much you can do with Poe.

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