Post by KaiNaium on Jun 18, 2013 0:19:49 GMT -5
[/b][/right]Hey guys! So I had some muse to spare earlier and I continued work on my book when I realized I hadn't posted an excerpt or anything from it after I had been working on it for forever. It's about a rehab center for nutjobs, basically. I wrote it from their point of view; it's about their world. The guy in this excerpt thinks he's Spiderman! It came out a lot more deep than funny, which initially wasn't intended but I like the way it came out. So, here it is! PLEASE CRITICIZE!
Nightmares and Monstersby KaiNaium
Well hey there, he thought emptily as a dime-sized black spider climbed leisurely over his taut fingers. A breeze blew, and the barn creaked. He didn't tighten his grip on the rotting wood and the spider likewise reacted. He stared at the spider with an emptiness he had grown accustomed to after a lifetime of emptiness. He sighed, watching the spider cast a web to the barn wall and slowly descend to the ground below. Instead of descending from the decrepit, elevated hay space, he gripped another wooden beam and pulled himself higher. The wind continued, but he carried on, unaffected by the danger. Today he could care less. Most of the time he could care less. He couldn't remember a day when he didn't care less. No, wait, yes he did. He still remembered life twelve years ago. That was part of what killed him every day.
He reached the highest crossbeam with ease. He swiped away the cobwebs that clung to the nook, abandoned by even the spiders. Silently, which was the way he did most everything, he settled into the rotting wood beams with a leg hanging over the side. He had decided not to wear Dad's glasses today, which was good. If he fell and broke His glasses... well, that was one of the few things he cared about these days.
He gazed down at the ground. To many others, it may look a great distance. But to him, it looked a short, if joyous, fall. He considered jumping; testing himself and his delusional abilities. Because of course, what else could they be but delusions; fantasies; daydreams? There had to have been a reason why he was sent here.
Oh, right, there were three. One: "Needed psychiatric treatment for the deaths of his mother, father, and uncle." Two: "Needed psychiatric treatment concerning his dangerous whereabouts at night." Three: "Needed psychiatric treatment to cure mental security device concocted by Peter Andrew Parker; that he is part spider." He knew them. He memorized them. He hated that they were probably right.
So what if he thought he was part spider? It's better than being human; a weak, nonthreatening human. Look at him, right now! Would it look like he was all human to anyone? Does it look like you're crazy? Well, yeah, but... And now you're talking to yourself. He sighed. They're professionals. Doctors. Scientists, basically. They have to know what they're talking about. It's their job. He grimaced and pulled his hanging leg up next to his body, hugging his legs close with his arms. He hoped desperately that no one would find him up there.
I must be going crazy. He shook his head, disheveling his already disheveled hair. No. He grimaced. I am crazy.
He became lost in his own thoughts, only steadily getting worse until he was afraid he was heading down a black hole of negativity, or which there was no return. His neck was bowed against the splintery wood, fingers white from gripping the rafters so hard. His hair covered his face, and he sat silently. An image flashed before his eyes; a grave. His uncle's grave. This image haunted his very existence. The same thoughts that always nagged him had flown through his head that very night.
It could have been me. I could have helped him, saved him. His body had shaken, knees covered in mud from the downpour over the cemetery. It should have been me.
Now, these words passed his lips as he lost himself in his own sadness and self-pity. "It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me." He let out a shaky breath, punctuating each word, "It. Should. Have. Been. Me." The ability to speak then became lost to him, and for a few more brief minutes, he sat in an old barn, cold and alone, with nothing to think but, 'it should have been me.' He was suddenly wrenched from his thoughts by the approach of footsteps outside the rickety barn. At first, he excused the noise as a figment of his famously-vivid imagination. He brushed aside that idea as a human body entered the recesses of the fallen stable, murmuring gibberish. "You're going to. You know you are. You're going to leave like the stupid little girl you are." Intrigued, he positioned himself just outside of the plank of wood, a hand holding onto a nearby rafter and a foot bracing himself against the nearby barn wall. The girl, for it was most unmistakably a 'she,' looked around the dark barn with a curiosity he admired. Perhaps it was the curiosity itself, or maybe it was that she was defying the voice that spoke on her behalf. No, it was both. But that's a crazy thing for him to think.
The girl turned toward the door, an action that, while giving him some relief that his alone time could be reinstated, somewhat depressed him. He was always alone. If, even for a brief moment, he could consider himself not alone, that was the closest he came to happiness most days. But, just as she reached the doorway, she turned sharply in his direction and let out a shriek of fear. He thought, silently, Shit.
"You, stupid inconsiderate BRAT. You should have listened to me!!!! You die, I die! Did you not realize this? Just....just, great going. You've killed me! KILLED ME! You had no right to do that you idiot. No. right. We're doomed." All the while, during this inner-voice's complete collapse, he was swinging down from the rafters, saying things like, "Hey, heyheyheyhey, wait, hey, it's okay, it's okay, IT'S OKAY!" Only once the voice had finally shut up did he have the chance to say, "I'm not gunna hurt you." There was no doubt in his mind that he meant it, and that was a difficult thing to get by his mouth these days. Sometimes he just wanted to hurt everybody. But not this girl. She reminded him of himself, in some crazy, messed-up way. Well, and that was not exactly something to be proud of, but...
As soon as he had descended from the rafters to just above the girl's level, where he felt she was at a safe distance from him, he knew he had acted wrongly considering the situation. The initial way he came across was too menacing, too mysterious and dangerous, and little words weren't going to solve that in a hurry. He looked down at her, attempting to apologize, but the damage had been done. She was murmuring incoherent words, words that only meant, 'please, don't hurt me.' Something inside of him took a hit. He was a threat; a villain. He was the bad guy and he had only caused more damage by trying not to be. If he had just stayed in his stupid little corner and let the girl run out, she could escape with that little pride of 'I escaped a murderer.' And he took that away from her, because he wanted to be something he was not; good.
Thoroughly injured, he crouched up on a beam that was out of the reaches of the light cascading from the doorway. The dark suited him, now more than ever. His head was bowed, his hair guarding his face from the girl's sight. Blood was splotched over his hand from grasping the splintered beams on his swift descent from nearly 4 feet above. He must have been so eager to prove himself a non-threat he disregarded his own safety. No matter; it just didn't matter. He bit his lip, hoping in vain that it wouldn't start spurting blood as well. "I... I'm sorry." He paused, breaths coming unsteadily to his lungs. "You should go."
His voice had become hoarse, and he didn't like the way it sounded. He regretted saying anything; she heard just how much of a monster he was. He should have just sat there, silently, until she got up and left. He still could have let her escape the murderer. And she would have seen his face; she would have stayed away from him in the broad daylight back at camp. It would have been a win -win situation for her. Couldn't he have let her have that? Didn't she deserve that?
Why did he have to be such a monster?
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