Under 500 words.
MONSTER by C.V. Hunt
I bring the bat down again, and again, and again. I yielded,look down at the bloody pulp that used to be a head, and swing again. There isnothing left but a bloody saturation attached to a lump of meat. I swing relentlesslyuntil the wooden bat reverberates off the concrete floor. I feel the vibrationin my bones. I continue to pummel the mushy mess of nothing as the laughterstarts.
Calm. Tranquil. Euphoric. No sweat. No elevated heart rate.
I should tell someonewhat I have done, I think.
Derision stands behind me, laughing manically. I turn tolook at him over my shoulder. He fidgets his wings of discontent and quietshimself. Still, his grueling grin of madness never wavers. He turns his eyelesshead, listening for me, waiting for me to move again, so that he can mock memore.
I drop the bat and step past Death as he makes room for me.Derision starts into a fit of giggles. I walk up the basement steps slowly andpass Misery. I pick up the phone and mundanely inform them of what I have done.
Cry, I have to cry, Ithink. I need to show remorse for what Ihave done.
I can't feel sorry for what I have done.
I need to be sad thatmy husband is dead.
I can't feel sad that my husband is dead.
Cry damn it! Fuckingcry!
I can't.
They arrive and I escort them past Misery and Death. Thecrowd seems ignorant to my lack of remorse. I try to cry, but it is only a weakattempt. I push for some kind of emotion, like waiting for the next hiccup thatwon't come. I can only produce a dry pitiful wailing that sounds more like ayawn. The crowd seems as apathetic as me in their resentment. They are disappointedthat this is all that I have to show them. They don't care… that I don't care.They only want to be on their way home now.
Frustrated and mad at myself for not caring, a little riverof water forms below my eye. I try to play on this tiny drop of water asDerision laughs again. I try to force this small drop of self-pity from my tearduct, but it is stubborn. I want to show it to the world as remorse. I want to displaythat I am capable of emotion, but the tear knows I'm a liar, and the water refusesto budge.
Cry, god damn it! Feelsorry for someone besides yourself!
I can't.
I open my eyes sleepily, and roll over. I should feel badand dub that a nightmare. But somehow, I still don't care. I close my eyes,take a deep breathe, and fall back into the strange land of subconscious. SomehowI know that when I do wake up again, I am not going to be able to forget that Ifelt no remorse.
Have pleasant vampire, werewolf, and zombie dreams. www.authorcvhunt.comwww.authorcvhunt.com
I bring the bat down again, and again, and again. I yielded,look down at the bloody pulp that used to be a head, and swing again. There isnothing left but a bloody saturation attached to a lump of meat. I swing relentlesslyuntil the wooden bat reverberates off the concrete floor. I feel the vibrationin my bones. I continue to pummel the mushy mess of nothing as the laughterstarts.
Calm. Tranquil. Euphoric. No sweat. No elevated heart rate.
I should tell someonewhat I have done, I think.
Derision stands behind me, laughing manically. I turn tolook at him over my shoulder. He fidgets his wings of discontent and quietshimself. Still, his grueling grin of madness never wavers. He turns his eyelesshead, listening for me, waiting for me to move again, so that he can mock memore.
I drop the bat and step past Death as he makes room for me.Derision starts into a fit of giggles. I walk up the basement steps slowly andpass Misery. I pick up the phone and mundanely inform them of what I have done.
Cry, I have to cry, Ithink. I need to show remorse for what Ihave done.
I can't feel sorry for what I have done.
I need to be sad thatmy husband is dead.
I can't feel sad that my husband is dead.
Cry damn it! Fuckingcry!
I can't.
They arrive and I escort them past Misery and Death. Thecrowd seems ignorant to my lack of remorse. I try to cry, but it is only a weakattempt. I push for some kind of emotion, like waiting for the next hiccup thatwon't come. I can only produce a dry pitiful wailing that sounds more like ayawn. The crowd seems as apathetic as me in their resentment. They are disappointedthat this is all that I have to show them. They don't care… that I don't care.They only want to be on their way home now.
Frustrated and mad at myself for not caring, a little riverof water forms below my eye. I try to play on this tiny drop of water asDerision laughs again. I try to force this small drop of self-pity from my tearduct, but it is stubborn. I want to show it to the world as remorse. I want to displaythat I am capable of emotion, but the tear knows I'm a liar, and the water refusesto budge.
Cry, god damn it! Feelsorry for someone besides yourself!
I can't.
I open my eyes sleepily, and roll over. I should feel badand dub that a nightmare. But somehow, I still don't care. I close my eyes,take a deep breathe, and fall back into the strange land of subconscious. SomehowI know that when I do wake up again, I am not going to be able to forget that Ifelt no remorse.
Have pleasant vampire, werewolf, and zombie dreams. www.authorcvhunt.comwww.authorcvhunt.com
No comments have been added yet.
