Rehab Doll
srs bzns
- 45
- Posts
- 15
- Years
- Seattle, WA
- Seen Oct 25, 2009
I wrote this story a while back as an assignment for my English class, I just found it and I thought "What the hell?" and posted it, I'd like to hear what you've got to say about it. Whether you love it or hate just please be constructive, 'kay?
Untitled Story: (Just another warning, I don't suggest reading this if you're under 15)
Death, a sorrowful, lonesome experience. It can bring out vulnerability in even the toughest of men, Often I'd spend nights thinking about the concept. Would it bring peace? Pain? Maybe, but sometimes a man would pay any price just to end his pitiful existence. Many would define death as an unfathomable experience, one someone could never comprehend unless experiencing it themselves. Others might describe it as a deep sleep, a final sleep, with the your thoughts lingering on the fact that you'll never wake up. The concept of death had always fascinated me, even as a small boy. I would often have nightmares about how or when I would die, although never had I dreamt about committing such a deed as I would tonight.
I took another sip of my tea; I could feel the sweat dripping down my palms as my hands jittered in excitement and anticipation. Today was the day, the day I would finally end this wretched experience I call a life. I let a small smile grace my lips, I could never condone myself for the numerous atrocities I had committed, but maybe in death I could finally find peace, atonement and most importantly, maybe I could see her beautiful face again. My eyes rested on the sole portrait I had of her, forever reminding me of her eternal beauty, even at thirty years of age she had still contained her youthful looks, never had I seen one so pure, so delicate. I set my tea down as I felt unshed tears sting my eyes. I had betrayed her, the one I loved most and not only did it kill her, but it killed me, as well.
We were happily married, or so she thought. Our marriage was a sham, a web of lies masquerading as something beautiful. I was not at all appreciative for the finer things in life and had thought little of what I had once called 'trivial emotions'. I did not care at all for the emotional side of love, but only for the physical side. Many a night I would have sex with different women, be it lowly prostitutes or even her closest friends, friends she had trusted and held dear. Not until that day had I felt even a shred of remorse for my unforgivable actions. I was in bed with her closest friend, she had come home earlier than I expected, when she walked in on us, I felt the firs shred of humanity I had in a long time, Remorse. The heart-broken expression written across her beautiful porcelain face ate at me more than anything imaginable. She had taken her short life that day, and the guilt still never ceases to kill me inside, even to this day.
After her funeral I shut myself off from society, from everyone I once held dear. I could not even pass a simple stranger without seeing her, I was in pure agony, but it was nothing in comparison to how she must have felt during her final moments. The only person I allowed myself to get close to was my loyal servant. A young girl with hopes, dreams and aspirations. All of which I had crushed. Following the years of my wife's passing I had nothing more than a bitter drunkard, and in my drunken stupor I had done a most despicable act. My faithful servant, who had taken care of me in my time of need, I had raped. I stole her innocence, her virginity an act most horrible... and I had even sunk so low as to have beaten her, blood was filling her every orifice, all that rage, all that sorrow, I had vented out on one young woman, bereft of any trace of corruption. I can never seek forgiveness, nor do I deserve such a thing. I hated myself for the vile and despicable monster I had become.
Putting my tea aside I got up from my chair and approached the window. I could see the heavy rain pouring down, as if the sky was weeping. 'Do not cry for me.' I thought sorrowfully, 'I don't deserve such recognition...' Slowly opening the window I let out a somber chuckle. I was moments away from death's sweet embrace; some might look on my death shamefully. Choosing such a disgraceful way to end my life, but that didn't serve to deter me. I didn't deserve to die with dignity, I was lower than scum and deserved no better than scum. I could hear the voices, screams of anguish forever haunting me; peace would forever be out of my reach. It was torture, no matter how hard I tried; I would always be forever falling, forever in pain. As her porcelain face still haunts me.
(A/N: To clear things up, this is not based in present times, it's supposed to based around the 19th century so if the speech seems a bit unorthodox, that's the reason.)
Untitled Story: (Just another warning, I don't suggest reading this if you're under 15)
Death, a sorrowful, lonesome experience. It can bring out vulnerability in even the toughest of men, Often I'd spend nights thinking about the concept. Would it bring peace? Pain? Maybe, but sometimes a man would pay any price just to end his pitiful existence. Many would define death as an unfathomable experience, one someone could never comprehend unless experiencing it themselves. Others might describe it as a deep sleep, a final sleep, with the your thoughts lingering on the fact that you'll never wake up. The concept of death had always fascinated me, even as a small boy. I would often have nightmares about how or when I would die, although never had I dreamt about committing such a deed as I would tonight.
I took another sip of my tea; I could feel the sweat dripping down my palms as my hands jittered in excitement and anticipation. Today was the day, the day I would finally end this wretched experience I call a life. I let a small smile grace my lips, I could never condone myself for the numerous atrocities I had committed, but maybe in death I could finally find peace, atonement and most importantly, maybe I could see her beautiful face again. My eyes rested on the sole portrait I had of her, forever reminding me of her eternal beauty, even at thirty years of age she had still contained her youthful looks, never had I seen one so pure, so delicate. I set my tea down as I felt unshed tears sting my eyes. I had betrayed her, the one I loved most and not only did it kill her, but it killed me, as well.
We were happily married, or so she thought. Our marriage was a sham, a web of lies masquerading as something beautiful. I was not at all appreciative for the finer things in life and had thought little of what I had once called 'trivial emotions'. I did not care at all for the emotional side of love, but only for the physical side. Many a night I would have sex with different women, be it lowly prostitutes or even her closest friends, friends she had trusted and held dear. Not until that day had I felt even a shred of remorse for my unforgivable actions. I was in bed with her closest friend, she had come home earlier than I expected, when she walked in on us, I felt the firs shred of humanity I had in a long time, Remorse. The heart-broken expression written across her beautiful porcelain face ate at me more than anything imaginable. She had taken her short life that day, and the guilt still never ceases to kill me inside, even to this day.
After her funeral I shut myself off from society, from everyone I once held dear. I could not even pass a simple stranger without seeing her, I was in pure agony, but it was nothing in comparison to how she must have felt during her final moments. The only person I allowed myself to get close to was my loyal servant. A young girl with hopes, dreams and aspirations. All of which I had crushed. Following the years of my wife's passing I had nothing more than a bitter drunkard, and in my drunken stupor I had done a most despicable act. My faithful servant, who had taken care of me in my time of need, I had raped. I stole her innocence, her virginity an act most horrible... and I had even sunk so low as to have beaten her, blood was filling her every orifice, all that rage, all that sorrow, I had vented out on one young woman, bereft of any trace of corruption. I can never seek forgiveness, nor do I deserve such a thing. I hated myself for the vile and despicable monster I had become.
Putting my tea aside I got up from my chair and approached the window. I could see the heavy rain pouring down, as if the sky was weeping. 'Do not cry for me.' I thought sorrowfully, 'I don't deserve such recognition...' Slowly opening the window I let out a somber chuckle. I was moments away from death's sweet embrace; some might look on my death shamefully. Choosing such a disgraceful way to end my life, but that didn't serve to deter me. I didn't deserve to die with dignity, I was lower than scum and deserved no better than scum. I could hear the voices, screams of anguish forever haunting me; peace would forever be out of my reach. It was torture, no matter how hard I tried; I would always be forever falling, forever in pain. As her porcelain face still haunts me.
(A/N: To clear things up, this is not based in present times, it's supposed to based around the 19th century so if the speech seems a bit unorthodox, that's the reason.)