12-28-2017, 08:57 PM
The cave stared back silently at him, pitiless. Uncaring. Somehow, if it was possible., failure turned to....there was no word. Not one word, at least. An angry voice came to him, echoing down the stone corridors of this cave. You are ten thousand times more abominable in his eyes than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours.
God, he despised Puritanical preachers, Jonathan Edwards first and foremost. He stood, looking at into the darkness. He should have expected no less.
Very well. Another smile formed. Evil. Angry. Smug. A word came to his lips. Crude. Vulgar. Common. And perfect. So very perfect. Strange how a single syllabic utterance, so simple-fricative+vowel+voiceless velar plosive- could be so deeply satisfying. Surely there were papers on the subject, studies on the relief certain words brought to the brain, the release of building pressures. Those suffering from Tourrettes knew how...freeing such things could be...
Were...
Are....
"FUCK.YOU.TOO!" He was done
He spun, the cave, the mountain, the entire universe flicked to mist that swirled around him, into nothingness.
It was all nothing.
He saw he was on his knees...felt wetness on his cheeks and disgust filled him. In that moment, Valeriya was there, with him. His eyed burned with rage.
He lept to his feet to....he wasn't sure what. Not be on his knees, that was definite. He scrubbed weakness from his cheeks.
She seemed not to see. She was staring at a blood red jewel.
And he felt nothing. Feeling was gone. Caring was gone. It was a picture, a painting. A photograph. Not real. Not real. A life that existed, once upon a time. When stories mattered.
When they were real.
God, he despised Puritanical preachers, Jonathan Edwards first and foremost. He stood, looking at into the darkness. He should have expected no less.
Very well. Another smile formed. Evil. Angry. Smug. A word came to his lips. Crude. Vulgar. Common. And perfect. So very perfect. Strange how a single syllabic utterance, so simple-fricative+vowel+voiceless velar plosive- could be so deeply satisfying. Surely there were papers on the subject, studies on the relief certain words brought to the brain, the release of building pressures. Those suffering from Tourrettes knew how...freeing such things could be...
Were...
Are....
"FUCK.YOU.TOO!" He was done
He spun, the cave, the mountain, the entire universe flicked to mist that swirled around him, into nothingness.
It was all nothing.
He saw he was on his knees...felt wetness on his cheeks and disgust filled him. In that moment, Valeriya was there, with him. His eyed burned with rage.
He lept to his feet to....he wasn't sure what. Not be on his knees, that was definite. He scrubbed weakness from his cheeks.
She seemed not to see. She was staring at a blood red jewel.
And he felt nothing. Feeling was gone. Caring was gone. It was a picture, a painting. A photograph. Not real. Not real. A life that existed, once upon a time. When stories mattered.
When they were real.