I am surrounded by monsters. Gluttonous, grotesque fiends gorging on rotten food; veins bursting from the faces of fools as they dine upon cookies and cakes, the clamoring ***** of cutlery on china bellowing in my brain. Vomit explodes into the corners of my mouth but I manage to hold it in. This is not a banquet. This is not a restaurant. Not a bar, not a dine-in, not a road stop. This is a classroom. I watch my classmates dine on the twisted knowledge of our teachers. This is conformity at its best, Listener. They scramble for notebooks, gargling on the liquid poison of education as Daedalus's "F" sword hangs above them. The true serenity of the situation is the remedial quality of my own peaceful state. I am the eye of the storm. This is conformity at its best, Listener. I'm reaching into my pocket, feeling the cold metal grip surface fine. It's rough upon my pale, clammy fingers, but it's soothing, too. The classroom dissolves into a place that feels like home. The place - a cave. It's cold. Dark. This rush... I am alive. I pull the metal object out of my pocket and stand up, waving it wildly. "Put your ****ing hands up!" I say. What a bad ass. I like to swear in these situations. It makes me feel powerful. The others feel my power. Fellow classmates amidst of feast of language widen their eyes, screaming in terror as I heard them into the corner. Trapped against a cabinet, I move my arm like a pop-star singing to a crowd. I'm a superstar. My peers are my fans. This is beautiful. A girl begins to cry, and I laugh. These cattle are waiting to be slaughtered. These sheep deserve to be torn with instruments of madness, shaved bare and skinned, debowled into bloody pulps writhing on the carpet. This is conformity at its best, Listener. I make the one that's crying suck my ****, and then I shove the barrel down her throat. A flower of flesh and blood blooms from the back of her head. The teacher is running for her cell phone, the head chef moving in on the grill. I take her out, too. Three shots to the chest and one to the knee. It shatters, spindly fragments floating in air as she collapses to the ground. "Stop!" a boy screams. How predictable. I shoot him in the face as children scream. My children. Pets. Cattle. This is conformity at its best, Listener. Someone has called the police. They're gathering outside, guns readied. The school PA system calls for a "lockdown, take cover." My time is up. I turn the rest of my classmates into burgers and pork chops before turning the gun on myself. Police rush the door, firing wildly. My suicide is interrupted as bullets tickle my skin. I'm raining blood. My knees are crumbling, and I'm swimming. Swimming in my own juice, flopping like a fish out of water. My pale white skin, my bleeding pores - I'm a strawberry sundae. The dessert to this great feast. I am the final meal. I am the head shepherd enacting final judgment on all his cattle. I am the savior, and this is my rapture. I am your savior. I am your judgment. I am the eye of the storm, and I have passed over.
Very good, I like it a lot D: I remember my first story here...not so good XD Very nice pool of vocabulary, and keep up the good writing.
Um...wow? You're very good with details and stuff. I'm not a huge fan of the topic, but that was excellent writing.
I'm not really sure what to make of this. but otherwise,very good....kinda made me think about something.
