campanella,
Yes!—People think me mad. No mad man can think of such a great story, a tragedy like no other. Indeed, no madman is capable of having the same straight thinking as I do. Nervous—very nervous I am. However, no madman feels nervousness—or fear, for that matter. My senses have been heightened by who knows what. I can feel things more clearly now, things no man or madman for that matter can feel. Hair-raising, I can feel my blood rush and heart pounding in my ears because of fear—NO! Fear is for madmen and for them only. But first, I shall tell you the greatest story and you will see how fear has never struck me.
My senses sharpen whenever I’m in this dark room—I call it my phobia room. It’s where any fear you can think of can come to life. At first, it was like hell came to me. I would be poked a thousand times by sharp needles and feel all of them burn one by one. As I got pierced, a dark shadow would sit there in the corner—there wasn’t one!—and laugh at me so, so loudly as I bled, the sound ringing in my ears.
However, every time I would close my eyes to accept the death that would greet me, I would feel cold air blow through me and then everything would disappear. I would just find myself lying down on the floor of the room, tears pouring from my eyes, screaming until my throat was sore, praying that it would stop. Until it happened again.
I tried to fight the shadow sometimes. After it happened a few times, I would always carry a knife with me so that whenever I would enter the room, I could stab him and the madness would stop. Of course I had never gotten close to him because whenever I took a step closer, I would have found myself falling as if I jumped from a very tall skyscraper, with no air entering my lungs, accompanied only by the continuous pounding of my heart.
The scenery changes every time. Sometimes, I would get burned alive while spiders crawled on my skin, their millions of legs sending shivers down every part of my body. Other times, I’d be underwater and I would have to hold my breath but I would hear the ticking of the clock oh so clearly.
But! Whenever I got out of the room screaming, the old woman who lived in the house with me would think that I was going mad and would call the police. Every. Single. Time. And I would be left to explain that I was simply having nightmares, good sirs, thank you so much—sorry for worrying you!
Eventually though, I learned to be calm and slowly get through the room. I began to wake up without screaming and so the police visited my house less and less. I like to think that I was slowly getting closer to the damned shadow. Once I killed him—I’d be free at long last, he’d be gone from that dark corner, and he’d stop haunting me finally. No more of his laughs ringing in my ears—Yes! Finally, finally.
I got him though, one night. I went through all the trials, lightning hitting my skin and sending sparks throughout my body, blades cutting me open, lights blinding me, and the laugh of the dark shadow growing louder and louder AND LOUDER AND LOUDER until it suddenly stopped. During my final fall from the tall building, I reached him. All the air inside my lungs left me as I stared at him in horror and I saw myself. This monster inside the room was me all along, feeding on my fears and nervousness. I felt all the fright and dread leave as if sand was slipping right through my fingers, and these emotions were replaced by anger. Anger that I hadn’t realized it sooner, that I was the one who created this madness. So I screamed— I screamed and I screamed until my throat was sore and I tasted blood. I saw the monster shrink to the corner as if beaten down. Unmoving, it was, I approached it— him?— breathing heavily—too heavily—I never reached him though—I scramble around the dark room but my vision is dimming and my breaths are slowing down. Why is the room getting smaller and smaller—I can barely breathe. What’s happening? But I’m free , at long last, I’m—
Free. The pain is gone and I can feel tears trickle down my face as I lay on the floor curled up and clutching my stomach. I look up the dark room and can only hear my breathing. There’s no more laughter from the dark shadow, no more dark and twisted things to torture me. There’s not a single speck of blood on my hands or stomach. The knife is across the room and spotless. I feel my mouth curl up into a smile and genuine laughter bubble up in my stomach. As I stand to leave the room, I catch a dark shadow in the corner of my eye. I lock the door and throw away the key to the room and to the madness that grappled me for months and months. I am finally free.
Literary: Mad.
Yes!—People think me mad. No mad man can think of such a great story, a tragedy like no other. Indeed, no madman is capable of having the same straight thinking as I do. Nervous—very nervous I am. However, no madman feels nervousness—or fear, for that matter. My senses have been heightened by who knows what. I can feel things more clearly now, things no man or madman for that matter can feel. Hair-raising, I can feel my blood rush and heart pounding in my ears because of fear—NO! Fear is for madmen and for them only. But first, I shall tell you the greatest story and you will see how fear has never struck me.
My senses sharpen whenever I’m in this dark room—I call it my phobia room. It’s where any fear you can think of can come to life. At first, it was like hell came to me. I would be poked a thousand times by sharp needles and feel all of them burn one by one. As I got pierced, a dark shadow would sit there in the corner—there wasn’t one!—and laugh at me so, so loudly as I bled, the sound ringing in my ears.
However, every time I would close my eyes to accept the death that would greet me, I would feel cold air blow through me and then everything would disappear. I would just find myself lying down on the floor of the room, tears pouring from my eyes, screaming until my throat was sore, praying that it would stop. Until it happened again.
I tried to fight the shadow sometimes. After it happened a few times, I would always carry a knife with me so that whenever I would enter the room, I could stab him and the madness would stop. Of course I had never gotten close to him because whenever I took a step closer, I would have found myself falling as if I jumped from a very tall skyscraper, with no air entering my lungs, accompanied only by the continuous pounding of my heart.
The scenery changes every time. Sometimes, I would get burned alive while spiders crawled on my skin, their millions of legs sending shivers down every part of my body. Other times, I’d be underwater and I would have to hold my breath but I would hear the ticking of the clock oh so clearly.
But! Whenever I got out of the room screaming, the old woman who lived in the house with me would think that I was going mad and would call the police. Every. Single. Time. And I would be left to explain that I was simply having nightmares, good sirs, thank you so much—sorry for worrying you!
Eventually though, I learned to be calm and slowly get through the room. I began to wake up without screaming and so the police visited my house less and less. I like to think that I was slowly getting closer to the damned shadow. Once I killed him—I’d be free at long last, he’d be gone from that dark corner, and he’d stop haunting me finally. No more of his laughs ringing in my ears—Yes! Finally, finally.
I got him though, one night. I went through all the trials, lightning hitting my skin and sending sparks throughout my body, blades cutting me open, lights blinding me, and the laugh of the dark shadow growing louder and louder AND LOUDER AND LOUDER until it suddenly stopped. During my final fall from the tall building, I reached him. All the air inside my lungs left me as I stared at him in horror and I saw myself. This monster inside the room was me all along, feeding on my fears and nervousness. I felt all the fright and dread leave as if sand was slipping right through my fingers, and these emotions were replaced by anger. Anger that I hadn’t realized it sooner, that I was the one who created this madness. So I screamed— I screamed and I screamed until my throat was sore and I tasted blood. I saw the monster shrink to the corner as if beaten down. Unmoving, it was, I approached it— him?— breathing heavily—too heavily—I never reached him though—I scramble around the dark room but my vision is dimming and my breaths are slowing down. Why is the room getting smaller and smaller—I can barely breathe. What’s happening? But I’m free , at long last, I’m—
Free. The pain is gone and I can feel tears trickle down my face as I lay on the floor curled up and clutching my stomach. I look up the dark room and can only hear my breathing. There’s no more laughter from the dark shadow, no more dark and twisted things to torture me. There’s not a single speck of blood on my hands or stomach. The knife is across the room and spotless. I feel my mouth curl up into a smile and genuine laughter bubble up in my stomach. As I stand to leave the room, I catch a dark shadow in the corner of my eye. I lock the door and throw away the key to the room and to the madness that grappled me for months and months. I am finally free.
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