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Listening For That Sweet Tune-Chapter 21: The Strangest Of Men Pt. 2

CoreyRhodes 145 days ago on Poems. Poetry

http://everydayaverageartist.blogspot.com -      Previously on Listening For That Sweet Tune:Chapter 21: The Strangest Of Men Pt. 1 'Is that funny?' this question was repeated several times in variations throughout the fight that followed my arm being bitten. As most would focus on whether or not they were going to make it to another dinner, my mind found itself on a different agenda—was this funny? I contemplated several things as he took several more bites in places like my legs, hands and my other arm; could he actually be asking a serious question—not knowing how to act appropriately—or if he was insane without reason and just asking questions to pass the time either because he wanted someone to talk to or he could even just be bored; I guess that very question could make this situation more dangerous and horrific. I kept asking myself the same question over and over again trying to understand the meaning of a simple question just to begin to comprehend an answer and many will say not to think about it to deeply but for being with an individual as troubled as this, one could only expect that every phrase they said was in the form then on was a form of a riddle. So was this funny? He had no idea if he should be one to laugh or be appalled and I could only think the same thing. These thoughts I have are so confusing; I dream of blood and chaos and I glorify it as if it was the meaning of life. So if I applauded to it whenever I was inflicting it on people then why would I not applaud when it was happening to me? Its the exact same thing just from a different viewpoint and this is what needed to be seen from my funny friend, he was putting himself in my shoes and wanted to know if he should be laughing or if he should be crying. I can see that an insane question of cruelty can only be answered the same way as it was asked and if he enjoyed this enough then he should be the teacher and the apprentice. So I will ask this once more, is this funny? I already picked my answer so I could only go through with it. Seconds after I reached my answer to the ever so complicated question, I immediately pushed him off of me and gave him a taste of his own vice. While jumping on top of him I began to see red as my eyes went to the back of my head and rage was all that was expelled from my body. Left then right I freed myself from my binding cage. Left then right I imagined the weight pulling off of my shoulders and I could breathe again. Left then right I had to realize that I was no better than him. Just some filthy waste. I found myself yelling 'So is this funny?' repeatedly as my knuckles began to loose skin and my blood molded with us—some form of parasitic connection. He was laughing as punches wound up to another blow but after the first half a minute, all grew quiet yet I still continued. Would he still find this funny? I would think so. Watching me enjoy my chaos—our chaos. I stopped for a minute to catch my breath and as I examined his lifeless face, a grin appeared and a slight dimple formed. I immediately grabbed his throat and started to squeeze. I repeatedly lifted his neck up and back down so his skull would meet the hardwood floors. Blood began to pool around him; some kind of bath of the sinners that is talked about so much. I thought to myself 'a little overkill?' I sighed for a second and vocalized a cold 'No'. I couldn't tell what he was anymore—no longer human—nothing I could stand to look at. For a second I could have felt a connection between me and him but self-destruction got the best of me. For so long I have felt so alone that an uninvited guest just seemed to spoil the fun but regret now pulsed through my veins. I fell back and rolled away from him to look at the ceiling in all its glory. 'Did that feel good?' I asked myself. I smiled and began to laugh 'YES!' I yelled. 'That was amazing!' I felt my conscious smile as well. What could have this dead mans name have been? Tod? Maybe a prophetic Israel? 'Maybe it was Ben?' I asked myself.      'That was smug.' I felt blood trickle down my throat and coughed up a lung. I got up to find that blood started to pool in my nose and overflowed all over me as I got up. Just a few steps away was the front door that leaded outside; I tilted my head back and made my way into the front lawn. It was like the fountain of life—in a practical way—and I couldn't help but think that I was its main vessel. It is true though, being a lifelike liquid, for as grim and dirty as it appears it really is good for us—some people even believe it makes them younger. Pools of blood settled on the lawn as I was just letting it drain, not like I could stop it. Yeah I could use my shirt but that would just leave me with an even bloodier shirt. After a while, it began to slow down. Gradually I used my hands to close my nose but blood only got over my hands—along with my friends. It was sunny outside. I walked around the lighthouse to see the ocean and I could see a lingering fog in the distance but nowhere near me. Maybe the fog was rolling onto shore and it would be here for a few hours but for now, this was all right. I walked down the hill a bit to land my feet on the sand of the beach; it stretched for several yards before it met the ocean. I looked back to the house and noticed that there was a large deck connected and a staircase going down the hill to the beach; I took one last look to the ocean and headed up the stairs. At the top was an assortment of furniture, some wood, some plastic, and a door that led back inside. Several windows showed my view to the inside and after examining what was inside I noticed something was missing. My friend got up and left from where he was laying; sweat began to bead down my neck and my heart started to race, 'Where did he go?'. I stormed inside looking frantically and saw that a blood trail got up from where he was laying, to lead to my left to where all the rooms were. I listened carefully to the air and I heard water trickle down a drain—a bathroom. I began to head down the hall, following the flowing sound until there, there he was. He was standing in front of a mirror applying a cloth to his wounds. The blood was nearly cleared up and his face remained to look fairly normal. His eyes caught mine in the mirror and turned around to walk past me. 'That was fun!' He yelled from down the hall. 'We should do that again sometime.' Then that smile. It burned through my head as his eyes seared my wounds.     Up next for Listening For That Sweet Tune:          Chapter 22: Dead? Or Simply Sleeping? Pt. 1     Remember me

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