Ramblings in the dark.
Dec 15, 2015 22:29:45 GMT -5
via mobile
Joey Flash, 6ix God, and 1 more like this
Post by stampy on Dec 15, 2015 22:29:45 GMT -5
The room was littered as if it hadn't been cleaned in weeks. Ashes and roaches were scattered across the hardwood floor. There was a smell in the air as if the room hadn't been unoccupied for a long while.Days and nights slowly creeping by. Emptiness.
Most nights he had occupied the chair next to the window, just staring at nothing. Tonight was different. A fire had ignited.
It had been 37 days since he drank. Though a small increments not time, it seemed a milenia to him. A tolerance had been built up at such a young age. So many hungover dental school mornings saved by aderol. It always woke something up inside of him.Something primal. He avoided it because it also makes him foolish and emotional. Fantasizing about beating someone until they were choking on their on blood, mixed with desperate prayers to protect the helpless in this world.
He was pacing back and forth. A pint of gin in his hand. He didn't need much. His body already had its response to the spirits ready. It wasn't long after it hit his bloodstream and he was up and moving. He approached his desk and began writing. The empty bottle of gin, clanked on the floor.
Stampy begins to write a letter.
Greybeard:
Did you know your father well wizard? I knew mine. I learned at a young age I would never please him. That didn't stop me from trying. He hated when I failed.
I lost my first fight at 6 to the next door neighbor. I didn't even try and fight him back. Turn the other cheek as I truly believed. That was the first time my dear sweet dad hit me.
It went the same until my teenage years. I had remained a pacifist, avoiding fights and staying out of trouble. My dad would have a few, and decide to use me as his de stressor. Bad day at work, hold me in a headlock until I pass out. Money was tight, how many punches on my arm could he land. He turned me into this submissive wimp, he was afraid to even looks someone in the eye.
That created something in me. This personality that just makes me lose control. Makes me feel like a monster.
Long gone is my childhood. I am not as diplomatic about things as I once was. But the fear remains wizard, oh yes the fear remains. A good bit of fear is healthy you see. Keeps you sharp. For when you face a fear your body naturally creates s rush of adrenaline, and for a time you're near invincible.
You didn't strike fear in me wizard. That's why you bested me last slam. You're craftier than I expected. Losing reminds me of my father, and I don't want to lose to you again. So wizard. I now fear you. And that is why Ineill take you down.
Thinking of you:
Stampy
P.S. I really would like to know about your father. Was he anything like mine? Or was he a kind loving father? Did he teach you your ways?
Most nights he had occupied the chair next to the window, just staring at nothing. Tonight was different. A fire had ignited.
It had been 37 days since he drank. Though a small increments not time, it seemed a milenia to him. A tolerance had been built up at such a young age. So many hungover dental school mornings saved by aderol. It always woke something up inside of him.Something primal. He avoided it because it also makes him foolish and emotional. Fantasizing about beating someone until they were choking on their on blood, mixed with desperate prayers to protect the helpless in this world.
He was pacing back and forth. A pint of gin in his hand. He didn't need much. His body already had its response to the spirits ready. It wasn't long after it hit his bloodstream and he was up and moving. He approached his desk and began writing. The empty bottle of gin, clanked on the floor.
Stampy begins to write a letter.
Greybeard:
Did you know your father well wizard? I knew mine. I learned at a young age I would never please him. That didn't stop me from trying. He hated when I failed.
I lost my first fight at 6 to the next door neighbor. I didn't even try and fight him back. Turn the other cheek as I truly believed. That was the first time my dear sweet dad hit me.
It went the same until my teenage years. I had remained a pacifist, avoiding fights and staying out of trouble. My dad would have a few, and decide to use me as his de stressor. Bad day at work, hold me in a headlock until I pass out. Money was tight, how many punches on my arm could he land. He turned me into this submissive wimp, he was afraid to even looks someone in the eye.
That created something in me. This personality that just makes me lose control. Makes me feel like a monster.
Long gone is my childhood. I am not as diplomatic about things as I once was. But the fear remains wizard, oh yes the fear remains. A good bit of fear is healthy you see. Keeps you sharp. For when you face a fear your body naturally creates s rush of adrenaline, and for a time you're near invincible.
You didn't strike fear in me wizard. That's why you bested me last slam. You're craftier than I expected. Losing reminds me of my father, and I don't want to lose to you again. So wizard. I now fear you. And that is why Ineill take you down.
Thinking of you:
Stampy
P.S. I really would like to know about your father. Was he anything like mine? Or was he a kind loving father? Did he teach you your ways?
