The Wretched

[DoS Archive]

From: dreystarke@aol.com (DreyStarke)
Date: 17 Sep 2001 23:19:21 EDT

Drey began his first entry into his diary, the corners stained in blood and the face sewn in human flesh.

The world is a vampire in its wholesome, yet decadent entity. But what does anyone care? The obfuscation as we know it, is us, or me, or you, or anyone that is anyone, and beyond this, is absolutely nothing but a vault of obscenity.
But who am I? A soul motivated by a long-term perpetual state of turmoil and despair, but even if I were granted said soul, I'd think it was a farce. For what provocative answer could there be to give such a being a soul?
I've been dead once, but once is an eternal blasphemed mishap for life supposedly. But who is to determine the supposed nature of life after death? Has no one even perhaps wallowed over the thought of dying and re-living? The two large pores at my throat seem to be reason for being, and whether or not that they are, has no meaning to me anymore.
My sullen lips have gone purple, or a deep violet; I've yet to focus on it, but nor do I care the endeavor. It does not matter, for the simple fact that my body once stalled, and then started is more than grandeur, but a luscious predicament.

I must say, being buried alive in a coffin for 5 years was terrifyingly lonely, but I had my vengeance with a tasteful bite of revanche. And the reprisal was a lot more sweet, than sour.

He grinned broadly at his first page, and then clapped the book shut. Blowing the candle out in his coffin, he slept (rested) in peace.