They had to be different. They couldn't be the same as me.
I just knew that was true. It had to be.
My mother. I really did not like her. Because she was different than me. She had to be. If she wasn't different then she wouldn't have left me here to rot and die. Mothers do not do that. Mothers are meant to take care of you; or, so, that's the popular mythology. Mothers are not meant to be love-struck fools. It is quite not in their nature.
The word mother - I do not like it. In fact, I have a great dislike for it. Oh, please do not get me wrong - I do not like the word father as well.
Those words are sickening. The word family even more. They have no semblance to the reality of things. I cannot like them at all. They're just rotten as the muggles in the orphanage would say.
The orphanage: yes, I did not enjoy that either. It suffers tremendously in prettying itself in the definition of a home. It too lacks life - as the dead body of my mother - I desire snakes to bite it, eat it, rip it - pollute it with the ashes and ashes I have heard so tremendously about.
There would no ashes for me. That would be a separate matter.
The orphanage is like what mazes and mousetraps are for rats. They cannot fathom anything. They only want to clothe you and cuddle you - make you feel special. But at the end of the second, minute and hour all they can do for you is to feel pity and feel grand that they do.
I don't want anyone's pity. Any time, anywhere - I will never need anyone's pity.
Clothing and cuddling - such a stupid way to stimulate life. Why do muggles have such useless ideas? Oh yes, they themselves are quite useless.
They wield no power yet act sovereign. They are ignorant. They do not perceive. They do not pursue. They have a world between them as thin as glass, as water, as air - yet, they are content in not knowing, never exploring - they love to be jammed into hinges as termites, as ants. They are the drones of ennui. Powerless yet cloaked in excrement and loving it as the swines readied for slaughter.
Yes, slaughter - I, Thank my brain for such a reasonable solution. Why not kill them like the beasts they are? Stupid they are and not so productive - well for fornication and manual labour they are excellent specimens. I cannot wait to exact this plan. It excites me. My blood soaks in the opiate of it.
Rich and so delicious...reasonable...
You may have been overpowered by them mother but I will not be. You are so stupid mother. I would have kept him dancing to my tunes. I would kept him under the spell. I would do that. Our kind does that mother.
Do you know how it felt...so good...watching him die so painfully...why not mother? He killed you too. He killed me too in a way by pretending I was dead.
Pretending he had power over me. Well father you shouldn't have pretended. You should have acknowledged your weakness.
Father...why do you look at me like that? With such eyes? I look familiar don't I? Like you? You realized didn't you?
Well, father you can be with mother now. Mother, you can't blame me. At least I did that for you. You can't say I wasn't a good son.
No one can say I wasn't good.
They will have to say I was all mighty.
Is this You-know-Who speaking? Very entertaining! It has an enjoyable mock tone if it really is about you-know-who.
ReplyDeleteLooks like you wrote it in a hurry, because there are some typos of spelling and punctuation. :D I wonder sometimes why you don't polish your writing pieces. They are pretty. They are your beloved children. Wouldn't you want to comb them, dress them and present them beautifully? In other words, I mean double checking your works and sitting on them for a few days before putting them up.
It's merely a suggestion. Since it's a blog, you have the authority to put up even first drafts. :D Either way, I enjoy your intense prose. They always deal with intense emotions, powerful images, thought-provoking philosophies, a mix of any two or all together. Though I should add, reading something so intense always requires a particular mood. In this case, I have to have the intense mood to read them. So might I propose that you, as a word-mason, figure out a way to mould your reader's mood with your beginnings so that no matter what mood I am in when I pick up your work, I change into the mood necessary to enjoy your work?
It might be a worthwhile project to work on. Right now, I can't think of any concrete example of how you can begin the project. But I am just curious and hopeful that something will come out of it.
:D
Love and Hugs.