Our Love of Angst

I felt the need to kill someone, see someone die. Cause horrible pain to someone I love, make them feel battered and bruised, tortured and beaten, dieing, cold, empty, broken. I couldn’t describe it, it had to be done. It called to me, the experience, the thrill of the kill. Not just anyone would do. Someone whose love meant the world to me, whose sadness in loss could be felt to the very core. I needed it instantly. It had been so long, like a drug long forgotten, returning for an instant with unknown cause, haunting you for just a moment, the hallucination in full swing.

She lay beside me, oblivious to all; she had done nothing to deserve it, no particular rhyme. Her presents was convenient, anyone of value would do. I can’t explain myself; it just had to be done. There was numbness in my soul, a need to feel pain, a pain not physical, but the mental anguish of a life held dear gone, my volition the source of it all. I couldn’t make sense of it, but I needed it now.

Her face was so soft, like a gentle burning only the smooth caress a velvety body could make. I could only feel, not see, smell, taste or hear. I couldn’t stop touching it, rubbing, yet never satisfied with my appetite for the feeling. Her movement, the pressure, her body sliding close… instinctive. Like a baby, curling in the womb. Her whole body was soft, a smooth and glorious glide from head to toe. Stomach warm, sensual, her breast calling in a way thrilling, but not one I could pinpoint. So warm, boiling my skin, pealing, cracking, tearing.

I had to end it, I was aflame, and I wanted to freeze, feel her pain, my own, one in the same. Pressure was all it took, tight pressure crushing inside. Delving deep into the wetness, nothing to hide. Cold and slippery, freezing me to the core, I felt it; just the tip, but I needed more.

I heard suddenly a sound long forgotten, one sense returning in a flash. My desire, that wail, the outright horror it held, breathe wheezing wretchedly, squeezing my chest as I squeeze hers. I must keep going, rip myself apart intentionally, feel her blood on my hands, and remember the love.

A convulsion, the cold, touching my skin. Clamminess most pleasant, please don’t let it end. Moaning orgasmicly, pushing close, tightening the pressure… god it’s so wonderful.

Our movements cease as the pulse steadily drops, I feel them pounding in rhythm, dropping down and out into oblivion. I wish I could join her, but alas I’m still beating, slowly but surely.

I let it consume me, her death, my remorse. The pain, beaten, tortured, dieing, cold… broken. Her presents so important, what kept me alive. I needed this feeling, everything deprived. Hollow inside, yet filled to the brim, tightness so tangible, my heart crushing too, just as I crushed hers.

I needed this sadness, this emptiness of soul. I begged and indulged, god how I love this feeling, as if I could cry. I can feel again, her love, her life, destroyed by my hands. Someone she trusted and believed in, whose life she believed to always be safe. I love betrayal, I love brutality and murder, but most of all this hollowness, as if life without pain holds no meaning anymore.

Tears fell like a faucet, grasping her cooling body close. It had been so long, since I cried, the anguish consuming, letting it all out. Relief and severe pain all at once, that mental torment not comparable to anything physical. I needed this; I wanted this, the regret towards my actions only fueling my glorious pain. I can’t live without her; I hardly believe I killed her even with her death in my arms. Yet god does it feel wonderful to be alone, broken again and again.

I can’t let it end, I must keep crying, let them find me this way. Realize my doing; make me feel so guilty, gods that pain will be glorious too.

This angst will keep my alive; keep me moving through life, reminiscent of trauma long past my most delicious fuel. I need it so badly… and so do we all.

………………………

My story symbolizing our insatiable appetite for angst and trauma. This short was bred from a single thought, “I want to read a story tonight, something depressing, humiliating and painful to a character I love”. Loosely I was imagining Vegeta as the killer, though it’s not specific of any actual person. This is directed towards all those people out there, who share my love of angst. No rude comments please, I take those offensively. Gimme a break, it was 5 in the morning.

NOTE: I wrote this little short and the summary in 2007 or so, and just found it almost 5 years later. Finally decided to share it.