Carpe Noctem
Bluelighter
just something about a fictional character.
Alkaline: Part One.
[it'll be continued only if you want it to be]
_ _ _ _ ___
Spirals and intricate designs of red, all which colored Alkaline’s dreams with hues of blood-ridden fury. He was spinning through the diluted darkness, the only light at the end of the pinprick hole was a dangerous ruby, speaking of cyanide promises which would only imbed like cruel daggers into critical points of his body, slice-happy and merciless. His psyche screamed and he fought to regain power over his lost control. The whirl of motion was too wide a range for him to conquer and he knew he wasn’t going to escape. He knew the Red had him and it was dragging him by the ankles and the wrists, pulling in all directions until he would tear and rip into jagged pieces of himself… puzzle pieces which would be impossible to fit back together. The Red wasn’t satisfied and he knew it, realized it all too well as the pinprick hole stretched and contorted itself into a gaping mass of crystallized Ruby, a mouth which swallowed him in one final, massive gulp. He choked and sputtered, fearing he would suffocate as the inside of the enemy muddled his senses and infected his soul and body through every pore in his skin, clogging up the escape routes and granting him no access to freedom. His mind howled for the body to resist, but the weaker of the two was a lost cause… so all he could do was scream in silent terror as he witnessed himself perish.
* * * * * * *
Imagine this: A dingy apartment building claiming exactly fifty living spaces, each and every one worth of earning the title of “cubicle” and nothing past that. The elevator with the yellowed scraps of legal paper pasted by it’s doors never seemed to want to work, instead focused upon the devious task of upsetting every single one of the occupants which happened to fill the weathered building up. A rare, select few might go so far as to say that the building had character and history, yet even the most sunshine-bright of optimists would most certainly look down upon it and dismiss any redeeming quality with the airy wave of a brief hand. Some of the cubicles on the far ends of the building were lucky enough to have fire escapes leading out from a window. Using this as a porch, it proved to be an ideal location to set up a scrapped lawnchair accompanied by a makeshift table. Complete to this was a ceramic ashtray on top of the upturned blue vegetable crate, slight breaths of wind the dominate factor in the scatterings of grey ash which were left behind from forgotten butts of cigarettes. This was Alkaline’s favourite dwelling, an escape from the fire which lit upon his soul every night in his sleep. He tried to drown in the smoky swirls which came from the end of a Marlboro, lose himself like the tappings which ended up in that dirty ceramic bowl. The feathers woven into his hair were fading. His normally sky blue eyes were switching hues, warning an onslaught of a storm which would overcast the clear weather and promise gray clouds. Tap tap of a well-trained index finger and there went the ash, dropping past his feet and through the cold, black metal bars of the fire escape to fall, down and down, just like he believed what was happening to himself.
“If only I could grasp onto the bars, then maybe I’d be all right.” Mutterings of lost time, of a detached self. Then on came a daze…
------------------
AIM: Jetty201
SickOfBeingSober
CaRpe N0cTeM onE
Alkaline: Part One.
[it'll be continued only if you want it to be]
_ _ _ _ ___
Spirals and intricate designs of red, all which colored Alkaline’s dreams with hues of blood-ridden fury. He was spinning through the diluted darkness, the only light at the end of the pinprick hole was a dangerous ruby, speaking of cyanide promises which would only imbed like cruel daggers into critical points of his body, slice-happy and merciless. His psyche screamed and he fought to regain power over his lost control. The whirl of motion was too wide a range for him to conquer and he knew he wasn’t going to escape. He knew the Red had him and it was dragging him by the ankles and the wrists, pulling in all directions until he would tear and rip into jagged pieces of himself… puzzle pieces which would be impossible to fit back together. The Red wasn’t satisfied and he knew it, realized it all too well as the pinprick hole stretched and contorted itself into a gaping mass of crystallized Ruby, a mouth which swallowed him in one final, massive gulp. He choked and sputtered, fearing he would suffocate as the inside of the enemy muddled his senses and infected his soul and body through every pore in his skin, clogging up the escape routes and granting him no access to freedom. His mind howled for the body to resist, but the weaker of the two was a lost cause… so all he could do was scream in silent terror as he witnessed himself perish.
* * * * * * *
Imagine this: A dingy apartment building claiming exactly fifty living spaces, each and every one worth of earning the title of “cubicle” and nothing past that. The elevator with the yellowed scraps of legal paper pasted by it’s doors never seemed to want to work, instead focused upon the devious task of upsetting every single one of the occupants which happened to fill the weathered building up. A rare, select few might go so far as to say that the building had character and history, yet even the most sunshine-bright of optimists would most certainly look down upon it and dismiss any redeeming quality with the airy wave of a brief hand. Some of the cubicles on the far ends of the building were lucky enough to have fire escapes leading out from a window. Using this as a porch, it proved to be an ideal location to set up a scrapped lawnchair accompanied by a makeshift table. Complete to this was a ceramic ashtray on top of the upturned blue vegetable crate, slight breaths of wind the dominate factor in the scatterings of grey ash which were left behind from forgotten butts of cigarettes. This was Alkaline’s favourite dwelling, an escape from the fire which lit upon his soul every night in his sleep. He tried to drown in the smoky swirls which came from the end of a Marlboro, lose himself like the tappings which ended up in that dirty ceramic bowl. The feathers woven into his hair were fading. His normally sky blue eyes were switching hues, warning an onslaught of a storm which would overcast the clear weather and promise gray clouds. Tap tap of a well-trained index finger and there went the ash, dropping past his feet and through the cold, black metal bars of the fire escape to fall, down and down, just like he believed what was happening to himself.
“If only I could grasp onto the bars, then maybe I’d be all right.” Mutterings of lost time, of a detached self. Then on came a daze…
------------------
AIM: Jetty201
SickOfBeingSober
CaRpe N0cTeM onE
