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Rated: E · Monologue · Dark · #2058790
A really short story, borrowed a line from Edgar Allen Poe maybe you will notice it.
I have a chronological condition. I cannot focus my thoughts on the present, but only the past, and future. The future has played a dominant role in my thought process more often than not, preventing me from actually attaining favorable outcomes in the future; but this to me is not my major problem. On those unfortunate days I wake to find myself mid dark thoughts of fading memories, a sense of hurt permeates the air. Demons of the past haunt my presence. Unavoidable pups that need to play, the past slowly fades it's way into the present. Slowly It gracefully dictates my thought, my feelings, and my reactions to the world around me; until I am no longer the person that I am, only the person which I used to be. I look into a cracked and smeared mirror of time, and I see a man I only wish to kill. Only if I could. Only if it were possible for the image to manifest itself into reality once more, that I may wrap my hands around his throat, and feel the air, as well as the memories slip from his consciousness. I want to scream into his face if to only feel myself scream, to remind me that I am not him. I want to ask him, where are your children, where is your family, your sense of pride, where have you buried your morals now? As he opens he mouth for a response, I dig my hand under his chest, in a desperate attempt to rip the life from him; but I awake once more. An ache in my heart, and tears, my only reparations for the innocent.

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