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Rated: 13+ · Monologue · Death · #1227619
A shot contracted killer reflects on his last moments of life.
This has happened to me too many times as of now. Too many times have
I stayed up restless nights because of this pulsating thump in the
back of my mind that just might burst. I try to look away from the
realness of it all. I cannot escape it anymore. It is here to stay and
I cannot object to it. Much of the horrors that keep relenting onto
my poor soul have made me discover new thoughts about…..life. In the
end, it's just not worth it anymore. I know it seems very rash, but
this has not been some kind of second degree process by any means. I
know I may not be missed by many. Hell, my very death may in some
twisted way, justifiable in sorts. I have laid my fiery burning hand
down on countless lost souls as of this day forward. I have killed our
fathers, our brothers, our cousins, and our sons. Lately as of yet
have I have set a mother to eternal rest. My control has gone out of
the reach of my tainted blood stained fists. Drifting away is my
sanity and all I can tell selfness with is the musty scent of the
smoking six empty chambers of my .357 Mag. The identity of Jason
Starks has slipped into dormancy. Who is this man? Why is he here? He
has taken all of my emotional possessions and smashed them into ten
thousand lies. What once seemed believable is now nothing more than
deceased fantasies complete with leprechauns and unicorns. Time is
slowing down now. This old fading pocket watch will stop sooner than
later. As unfitting as this may be before hand, I am willing to accept
my fate. When this fate finally does intervene, I will be free to run
with the Unicorns and dance with the leprechauns. I can only wait long
enough for this ordeal to be finally over. I want a ceremonial death
topped with burnt black roses and a draped red flag. I want it to be
only fitting to myself, or what is left. Give me the end this
redemption. They say it gets darkest before dawn but my sun has waived
goodbye long ago. Tell my mother for when she cries, to stand over a
lovely batch of flowers. This way my death can cause her tears to fuel
the sprouting plants and help create something beautiful.
© Copyright 2007 Half_Hearted (halfhearted at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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