Terrors Subsided

August 5, 2012
By JoNkShAdOw SILVER, Buckeye, Arizona
JoNkShAdOw SILVER, Buckeye, Arizona
8 articles 2 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
the past is the remains of a treacherous earthquake of emotions. it waits to send its second wave of destruction upon the slightest touch.


Every morning he woke without the sense of waking. His night terrors stayed with him. They reached at him and clawed at his wrist with razors sharp to the touch, forcing him to wear sleeves to hide it. They caressed his beautiful eyes to bring out urgent waters needing attention, so he grew his hair to cover his once unscarred irises. They came in origin from his past, dark and unwanting. He kept his grieving continuous with his black clothes in hope to be ignored. This is Derek. Derek never wanted this terror for his life. The terrors just happened.

His father long ago left, his sisters of young age knew little of emotions, and his mother should be allowed to suffer as far as Derek is concerned. To his enjoyment and crutch, no one paid mind to him. He can’t be missed. All those who cared are dead or apathetic. There was nothing for him anymore. The terrors won.

It was midnight and his mother and sisters were away. He fashioned a noose of year-old twine onto the top rung of his walk in closet. “let her see me” he thought, “she doesn’t need my writing to explain”

The waning hours of night sped along as Derek prepared his flight from pain. He sat on the cold floor studying his emotions. They seemed so much more clear with such an imminent death awaiting. He was almost at peace. Almost.

He made his final stride to the rope when at the corner of his eyes he saw a slight shimmer at his peripheral vision. A year before his pastor had granted him an image of Jesus. Close to forgotten, its frame was place beside Derek’s closet. Upon sight, he felt rage. “This idol is my SUPPOSED savior, where has he been all this time!”

His hands reached up to tear the frame away from its niche as the terrors did his wrist. The frame would not give into his angst-full hands. Not in the slightest way would the image move. His fists fought against the wall as he once did his pain. The frame would not give into his fists and teeth and fingers full of rage.

He fell to the floor along with the terror still subsiding away. HE is there. HE always has been. No matter what had been done, the frame stood steady and so did his life after that point.

The author's comments:
my close friend is terrible at writing, but he explained it to me in detail for me to recreate without anything added or taken away.

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