navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » Demons of the Mind
Passions in Prose
Post A Reply Post New Topic Demons of the Mind Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
Kosetsu
Member
since 2001-03-10
Posts 450
Alabama, USA

0 posted 2001-09-10 09:30 PM


How did I arrive here? I mentally asked myself. My eyes were closed, for the moment. A musty scent came to me, like the odor of smoke long since carried away by the wind, yet refusing to vanish, like ghost lingering in their haunt. The wind wailed and howled, tugging at me, pulling at my clothing, whispering at me to follow it. I opened my eyes to a vision of horror. I stood in the remnants of forest burned and charred by flame, ravaged by war and disease that slew plant and animal alike. The skeletons of trees stood silent, stripped of bark and leaf, charred by the flames of whatever war had devastated this landscape, forgotten sentinels battered and broken in their failure to protect the beauty of the lush green woods this area had once been. Clouds of black and gray ash floated along the ground at my feet, clinging to my pants and shoes. The air was dry, leaving a dusty taste in my mouth. If not for the howling of the wind, there may not have been a sound but that of my own breath and footsteps.

That is when I realized that I had started walking. With each step, clouds of ash rose into the air and vanished as the icy wind whisked them away to wherever they may have gone. What Hell had ravaged this place? Tiny blackened stones rolled about and crunched beneath my footsteps, twigs and branches that had fallen after day upon day of the harsh wind against the dying brittle trees snapping and cracking beneath my boots.

One cannot imagine my joy as I saw a figure approaching me. I would learn where I was, how I’d arrived here, what had happened here, and most importantly, how I could return to my home. But as they say, you cannot judge a book by its cover. No dust sprung up beneath this man’s footsteps, and in truth, he appeared to walk on the thick and uneven carpet of stone and ash as if it were the most level surface imaginable. Fear began to creep through me, icy spikes tingling their way up my spine. This…creature was not normal. We both paused as we met, my eyes meeting those that belonged to my own face. My breath caught in my lungs at the sight of this doppelganger, this reflection of myself. What demons and spirits haunted these woods?! This creature had my face, my body; yet I was not looking at myself. His flesh was darker, like purple-gray, the blood red irises of his glinting with a feral presence so great, I felt he would strike at me at any moment. He wore no shirt, no pants, clad only in a simple loincloth. The fingernails of each hand were long black talons, the tips of each nail sharpened to a point. We remained silent as the seconds ticked by like hours, watching each other.

He flashed me a grin with a mouth of razor sharp fangs, a visage containing the look of some escaped asylum patient, then rushed at me. Petrified by shock, I had no time to react. Such speed…I felt sure I was dead. One swipe of those claw-like fingernails, one bite of those razor fangs, and my life would have ended. Yet he did not strike; instead, he…entered me. Or tried to. As we touched, he exploded in a cloud of dust, the same ash that blanketed this ravished landscape. I stumbled back at the impact, choking on the ash that seared my lungs and stung my eyes and nostrils.

Coughing and crying from the pain, I pushed on, though whether my fear or my curiosity as to what was going on pushed me the most, I cannot say. I soon came to a river, and dropped to my knees at the sight, drinking heavily at the water to remove the burn from my chest. I promptly spat it out, and took a good gaze at it. How I’d missed the sickly greenish color of the water on my first look I can only attribute to the stinging pain that still clouded my sight. Grotesque bits of what may have been organic matter floated downstream, bobbing up and down in a blackish-green film that covered the murky water beneath. I rubbed vigorously at my hands in an attempt to rid them of the nauseating feel of the sludge. I backed away from the water in hopes of escaping the sickening odor that had begun to burn its way into my mind, an odor like raw sewage mixed with rotten eggs and dying animals.

I began to follow the river upwards, keeping my eyes averted from the sickly water. Soon I came to a bridge, or what had once been one. It, like all else in this hellish war-battered land, was crumbled and broken, charred black by the flames that had befallen this horrifying rendition of the universe I knew. Massive soot-covered stones stood cracked and marred along the railing of the bridge, guardians of passage to what lay on the other side. I stepped onto the bridge, then hurried across in order to escape the intensity of the stench, stones and ash slipping beneath my feet. With a deafening crash and a tsunami of the sludge, the bridge shattered and dropped into the river, only adding stone and dirt to the surely disease-carrying mixture. I shook my head to clear the ringing of my ears after the crash, and quickly did my best to remove the grotesque liquid from my clothing before the stench suffocated me. In the end, I foolishly discarded my coat.

I hurried on down the path. To what, I did not know. Now, fear of death by hypothermia pushed me on. How cold the wind had become from the time I threw my coat to the ground! Goosebumps numbed my arms through the thin cotton of my shirt, and my muscles threatened to cramp as they began to chill. In my haste, I did not see the small object in my path until I had kicked it once. It rolled through the cold ash and came to a halt handle-side up. A tiny teacup, chipped on one side of the lip, but otherwise still intact, and as white as the day it must have come from its packaging. I picked the little object up with the care that a woman picks up her child. At least something normal had survived this Hellhole moderately intact. For whatever reason, I set the little cup back on the ground, and continued on my way.

Soon I came to a fence, or rather, a low wall, perhaps four feet high, built from the same stone the bridge before it had been built from, charred just as black, and cracked twice as much. So intricate was the spider web of cracks that adorned the wall’s surface, it seemed that if I would but touch it once, it would collapse. I quickly climbed to the other side. With but a glance behind, I continued down the path.

Relief gripped me as what had once been a house entered my sphere of vision. My pace heightened as I neared. I’d found shelter from the cold. There had to be a fireplace inside or something with which to make a fire. Walls made of the same charred and crumbled stone stood high, the eastern-most wall simply gone. My eyes befell two flower gardens to either side of the door, vacant of anything but dead and withered flowers, then towards a slight creaking sound. A tire swing was swaying in the wind from a solitary oak tree, the rope that held it blackened by ash, twisted and frayed. A sigh of sorrow escaped my lips. Such a swing could only have been built for a child. Now, no child ran in the field, no child played in the cool clear water of the river, no child pretended to host tea parties for her dolls. I assumed the worst had happened to whatever people had lived here. Perhaps they had been slain by that…creature I’d met earlier. Perhaps they’d died long before, in whatever cataclysm had caused all this destruction and fire.

As I gripped the brass doorknob, the door simply fell in, the rotten wood secured to its hinges needing only a slight touch to break away. I stepped into the room, and gazed about. Shards of glass littered the floor, crunching beneath my boots. A painting on one wall was ripped and burned. The tile flooring too had been scorched, black marks marring its pale surface. In the middle of the room stood a table, a grand Victorian piece of furniture, now burned and broken like everything else. Still, it stood level, the remnants of a book stuck under one leg that had rotted enough to be broken off and thus shorten its length. The glint of something shiny caught my eye, and I approached the table. A hand-mirror, face down, lay on the table, the gems and silver adorning its back glittering in the light; yet despite its beauty, it was horrifying. Sculpted depictions of demons danced with rubies for eyes, silver for fangs and claws, and some strange red metal for the blood that flowed from their victims endless wounds. Before I could command myself otherwise, my hand reached out to touch the device, my fingertips tracing over the intricate design. Terror gripped me as my fingers grasped the handle and lifted the mirror from its resting-place. I turned it over, and lifted it to gaze into the eyes of my own reflection. My eyes grew wider in horror at the face that I saw in the mirror, and a scream of terror burst from my lips. God no…not that face!


I sat straight up in bed, gasping for breath, knuckles white from the strength of the grip I had on the silky sheets. Only for their wetness on my cheeks did I know that tears streamed from my eyes. Was what I’d seen what could happen if I gave up my humanity? What if we all give it up? Will those same flames ravage our world? Will we become the demons of our own minds?
----------------

Done for a project in my Creative Writing class. Heh..only solidifying my reputation as a morbid psychopath.
        

-Adam



Of all the things that I confess,
Here's one that is doubtless
I will love you always Jess
Never think I could love you less

[This message has been edited by Kosetsu (edited 09-10-2001).]

© Copyright 2001 Adam Kamerer - All Rights Reserved
cherish
Senior Member
since 2001-03-25
Posts 1639
swimming in fairy floss...........
1 posted 2001-09-11 08:53 AM


awwww AWESOME!!!! boyo you took my breath away- man i went as far as to block everyone out till id finished the story!! this is absolutely awesome adam! the discriptions were spot on, you painted such a vivid piture im sure the visuals i was experiencing weren't far from what you were experiencing. i loved the whole hazy dreamy feel to this too- it tied in nicely with the ending- i normally get very dissapointed if a story ends with a "then i woke up" but you managed to keep the beat up with this particular piece. where woulds we all be without our humanities? you know i was begining to question that when you wrote about the darelict swing and the little girl playing tea-parties.
i loved the double twists at the end too. maybe we would all end up becoming the demons of our minds- who knows?
a story well worth the read adam. thanks for telling me about this one- its a real gem!
keep writing!!

a
D    E           R S     I TY   can BE WARPED
  R     A    E          L
            M         EA
                      R    

Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187
St. Paul, MN
2 posted 2001-09-11 04:54 PM


You're descriptions are excellent and I love the dystopia scene you've woven. I like the idea of the ending, but I'm not a big fan of the "I woke up" cliche. There are too few people in the world to be changed by a dream... I would have liked to see the demon loose itself.. or it's affect on the man beneath.

Not to say I didn't like your story, I just wanted to give you some things to think about. It was truly a great tale, I loved your imagery and the scenery. Horrifying and terrific.

"They that start by burning books will end by burning men." -- Heinrich Heine

Kosetsu
Member
since 2001-03-10
Posts 450
Alabama, USA
3 posted 2001-09-11 07:00 PM


This was just the rough draft copy...I too thought about removing the "I woke up" paragraph at the end...but now I'm almost afraid to touch this story again..

I'm sure all of you know by now the events that happened to the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. I printed this story off at school at the EXACT moment the second plane crashed into the WTC. I know because I saw a clip of a camera used to record the event and the timer said the exact same time as the time on the computer when I printed it off. This event could very well spawn WW3...and what would be effect of such a war: Read this story, and tell me.

-Adam, still stunned

Of all the things that I confess,
Here's one that is doubtless
I will love you always Jess
Never think I could love you less

Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart
4 posted 2001-09-15 08:01 AM



As I looked at the time you posted this, I was eerily affected by your "premonitory" skills...


Post A Reply Post New Topic ⇧ top of page ⇧ Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format.
navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » Demons of the Mind

Passions in Poetry | pipTalk Home Page | Main Poetry Forums | 100 Best Poems

How to Join | Member's Area / Help | Private Library | Search | Contact Us | Login
Discussion | Tech Talk | Archives | Sanctuary