Amaranthine

[DoS Archive]

From: dreystarke@aol.com (DreyStarke)
Date: 23 Dec 2001 12:29:31 EST

"Amaranthine."
I didn't know exactly what that meant at the time. It bothered me; it truly did. After the holes in my neck dissolved, and the procrastination of my strength ceased, I became aware. Aware that my body was not my body anymore, and that, in its wholesome identity, was something that it wasn't before. I can't explain it really without it being a never-ending riddle, but I need to. I need to confess my reality.
Everything felt longer since then. I can't think without some urge of cannibalism; can't rid my mind of this shackle; this concactivity; this . . . monotonous nightmare. I . . . I . . . Sometimes feel myself awaken in the middle of the night, without truly awakening. But I dream it, and I'm always, by the end, drinking. Drinking . . . Drinking something delicious, but a dangerous delicious. It tastes forbidden. And I can't ever stop
remembering the taste; it seems to ring and resound in my mind; it sometimes faintly trickles my tongue; it lacquers my being. I couldn't touch my chest anymore and feel my heart beating, but that didn't frighten me that much -- no, not at all. What frightened me was my wife in my closet like I dreamed, and her body thin; empty -- empty of ichor; gore; blood. It frightened me that I did this; that I murdered my wife.
But then, deep down in the boiling sensation of turmoil, I became less and less confused about who I was, and what has happened, because it has revealed itself more than enough. I know now, what I am. I've always known, but I could never remember; but now, with the defunct evidence, I know exactly where I stand. I stand amaranthine. I stand ageless, I stand in the traverse of existence, I stand . . . At the top of the food chain.