There have been very few times in my life when I've been begged by someone. I'm not talking about your five year old, jerking on your shirt sleeve to get two quarters for the bubble gum machine at Wal-Mart. I'm talking about real, genuine, unbridled humility. Someone reaching out to you from their knees on the ground, tears streaming down their cheeks, all because they want you to fulfill that one request.
I thought my wife and kids were selfish. Can you believe that? But I did. When my brother sat me down on a park bench and held a nine millimeter to his head, I told him he was being dramatic. "No", he said. "I'm only inclined to do instantly what you've been doing to yourself, slowly but surely, for thirty years." Not exactly fair, if you put in that perspective.
I spent around two thousand dollars. Out of all the hair-brained strategies, acupuncture was the worst. Call it ironic, but the most effective route, in the end, was absolutely free. Not a cent. What's in it for them, I wonder? They have nothing left, and therefore nothing to gain from their existence. They linger on the edge. Is their purpose for remaining here to stop my demise? I doubt it. To provide an example and a bit of realistic persuasion? Maybe so.
Or, maybe, God just has a sense of humor.
When I woke up in the room, I was terrified. I never would have believed that my loved ones were the cause, the motivation behind it all. That's why it worked. I could think of nothing other than the fact that I knew I was going to die here, alone. I would never be able to bid them a fare thee well. It's unsettling, to know that your life is going to end under circumstances that prevent you from saying goodbye.
The first thing that hit me was the stench. An overpowering, stinking atmosphere of absolute filth. It wasn't the smell of death. Rather, I could more accurately describe it as "stale." Imagine air that's been trapped in a sealed off chamber, with no way to circulate or get out, for hundreds of years. I was breathing it in, and desperately trying to use my mouth. It made things about ten percent better. I still felt as if I would asphyxiate, but you'd be surprised what your physique will tolerate when your survival is at stake. My body seemed to yield, eventually, although my eyes were burning. It seemed as though my lungs were talking to me. No fresh air, huh? We'll take what we can get, but you'd better bust out of there soon. We don't work overtime.
If you really think about it, "nothing" can scare the shit out of you. It did me. I was sitting in a room with NOTHING. Some dirt on the floor, perfectly smooth stone walls, and dead air, of course. I'd rather be hit by a semi and die instantly than waste away slowly, day by day, in this God-forsaken chunk of hell.
It's impossible to describe how they got in there with me. The English language does not provide any sort of vocabulary or terminology for what these things were. There are simply no words for it. They were just there.... at the corners, slinking towards me with their dead, sunken features. My instincts told me not to blink, to watch them carefully. I could hold my eyes open for days and allow them to protest with their searing, white-hot flashes of pain through my sinuses. That was perfectly fine with me, as long as they didn't reach carved mound of rock that I was stuck to. When I say stuck, I don't mean I was tied up. There were no physical bonds that kept me from rising to my feet and walking out the door, if this place had a door. I couldn't fucking MOVE. It took me a few more moments to realize that even if I wanted to blink, it was impossible. Why were my lungs working? Why was I still alive?
I assumed that there were only two of them, but that's because I could only SEE two of them. The others were coming up behind me, and as they crept in to my peripherals, I screamed. My mouth didn't move, but trust me, I screamed.... on the inside. My eyelids felt like they were stretched up and down and glued to my cheeks and eyebrows. The first one had slinked silently to my cone of vision, and now it was staring at me, straight in the face.
I can't really say it stared, because it didn't technically have eyes. I wanted to say that the closest thing they resembled were cadavers. Their bodily orifices were rotted out, but when I looked at them, they weren't entirely "there." They shimmered, like they were suspended in a half-plane of nonexistence between the ethereal realm of the dead and the charred confines of this room. They were gaseous, malformed, and although this may sound odd to you, they floated along the dirt floor with some measure of hypnotic grace.
I realized that they were lining up, single file, one by one. The first's face was now inches from mine. It was leaning forward, and shimmering now more than ever before. All I could do was breathe and watch. Its features were changing. Slowly, the black, scabby skin gained color. Eyes were beginning to form deep in the base of its head, slowly radiating outward and coming forward as they filled in. Hair was sprouting. Then, that pang of realization hit me, and it was without a doubt the most horrific moment of my life. I was staring at myself in the face, and all I could do was breathe. It didn't help anything. The doppelganger was beginning to fade, inch by inch, starting with the top of his head. I was breathing him in. That sounds half-ass crazy, I know, but you've been with me so far. You shouldn't be surprised.
I wish I could have stopped my own breathing, but I couldn't. All I could do was sit there, and the next one was in my face before I knew it. God, my lungs wouldn't stop. They were so greedy for the stale, musty surroundings. I didn't notice so much with the first one, but after the second had been fully inhaled through my body and the third was taking its place, something was happening. My hands were starting to scab up with that dried out, black affliction. I could feel my face, my insides, my feet, hardening in to flaky husks of malignant death.
I could move.
It wasn't much, just a twitch. My pinky, maybe. It was barely anything, but I felt it. It required all of my will power, more determination in those next few moments, than I've ever mustered in my whole life. I can't explain why, but I heard my family on the other side of this stone prison. Somewhere, way out there. A crease was opening in the wall, but when I shattered whatever malevolent force that kept me bonded to the stone, my foot crumbled in to dust when I tried to step on it. I was still breathing, and the fourth one was at my face, now. They moved, glided, stepped with me whenever I made any sort of progress forward.
The crease was ever widening, and I could see hints of sunlight. The deafening roar of old stone grinding against stone made me feel as though my head might explode. I was crawling, and the tips of my fingers were bleeding out on to the floor with the force that I exerted upon them. The fourth was almost completely within me, and I knew I would not survive another. I had to stop breathing, or break out. I preferred the latter. The sight of green grass and the hints of a blue sky on the outside of the tomb encouraged me further. The fifth would not move away from my face. With every breath I took, I inhaled more of the copies of myself. They were killing me.
When my fingers sank in to soft grass rather than dead earth, I stopped breathing. I was too weak to build enough momentum to escape quickly, and another round of whatever these things were doing to me would be it. I just knew...... I could feel it deep down. I was sapped of strength, but empowered with a burning desire to live, to survive.
I'm sorry. I want to live. I won't be selfish anymore. Please don't let me die.
My brother's hand was gripping my own, now, and he was pulling me upward, in to fresh air. That first breath in that instance was the most delicious air I have ever tasted. Glorious, filled with life.
If it were not for my family's begging, perhaps I would have never woken up in that room. Those things, as terrible as they were, were one of the best things that ever happened to me.
I never smoked another cigarette again.
-Credited to Violent Harvest
I thought my wife and kids were selfish. Can you believe that? But I did. When my brother sat me down on a park bench and held a nine millimeter to his head, I told him he was being dramatic. "No", he said. "I'm only inclined to do instantly what you've been doing to yourself, slowly but surely, for thirty years." Not exactly fair, if you put in that perspective.
I spent around two thousand dollars. Out of all the hair-brained strategies, acupuncture was the worst. Call it ironic, but the most effective route, in the end, was absolutely free. Not a cent. What's in it for them, I wonder? They have nothing left, and therefore nothing to gain from their existence. They linger on the edge. Is their purpose for remaining here to stop my demise? I doubt it. To provide an example and a bit of realistic persuasion? Maybe so.
Or, maybe, God just has a sense of humor.
When I woke up in the room, I was terrified. I never would have believed that my loved ones were the cause, the motivation behind it all. That's why it worked. I could think of nothing other than the fact that I knew I was going to die here, alone. I would never be able to bid them a fare thee well. It's unsettling, to know that your life is going to end under circumstances that prevent you from saying goodbye.
The first thing that hit me was the stench. An overpowering, stinking atmosphere of absolute filth. It wasn't the smell of death. Rather, I could more accurately describe it as "stale." Imagine air that's been trapped in a sealed off chamber, with no way to circulate or get out, for hundreds of years. I was breathing it in, and desperately trying to use my mouth. It made things about ten percent better. I still felt as if I would asphyxiate, but you'd be surprised what your physique will tolerate when your survival is at stake. My body seemed to yield, eventually, although my eyes were burning. It seemed as though my lungs were talking to me. No fresh air, huh? We'll take what we can get, but you'd better bust out of there soon. We don't work overtime.
If you really think about it, "nothing" can scare the shit out of you. It did me. I was sitting in a room with NOTHING. Some dirt on the floor, perfectly smooth stone walls, and dead air, of course. I'd rather be hit by a semi and die instantly than waste away slowly, day by day, in this God-forsaken chunk of hell.
It's impossible to describe how they got in there with me. The English language does not provide any sort of vocabulary or terminology for what these things were. There are simply no words for it. They were just there.... at the corners, slinking towards me with their dead, sunken features. My instincts told me not to blink, to watch them carefully. I could hold my eyes open for days and allow them to protest with their searing, white-hot flashes of pain through my sinuses. That was perfectly fine with me, as long as they didn't reach carved mound of rock that I was stuck to. When I say stuck, I don't mean I was tied up. There were no physical bonds that kept me from rising to my feet and walking out the door, if this place had a door. I couldn't fucking MOVE. It took me a few more moments to realize that even if I wanted to blink, it was impossible. Why were my lungs working? Why was I still alive?
I assumed that there were only two of them, but that's because I could only SEE two of them. The others were coming up behind me, and as they crept in to my peripherals, I screamed. My mouth didn't move, but trust me, I screamed.... on the inside. My eyelids felt like they were stretched up and down and glued to my cheeks and eyebrows. The first one had slinked silently to my cone of vision, and now it was staring at me, straight in the face.
I can't really say it stared, because it didn't technically have eyes. I wanted to say that the closest thing they resembled were cadavers. Their bodily orifices were rotted out, but when I looked at them, they weren't entirely "there." They shimmered, like they were suspended in a half-plane of nonexistence between the ethereal realm of the dead and the charred confines of this room. They were gaseous, malformed, and although this may sound odd to you, they floated along the dirt floor with some measure of hypnotic grace.
I realized that they were lining up, single file, one by one. The first's face was now inches from mine. It was leaning forward, and shimmering now more than ever before. All I could do was breathe and watch. Its features were changing. Slowly, the black, scabby skin gained color. Eyes were beginning to form deep in the base of its head, slowly radiating outward and coming forward as they filled in. Hair was sprouting. Then, that pang of realization hit me, and it was without a doubt the most horrific moment of my life. I was staring at myself in the face, and all I could do was breathe. It didn't help anything. The doppelganger was beginning to fade, inch by inch, starting with the top of his head. I was breathing him in. That sounds half-ass crazy, I know, but you've been with me so far. You shouldn't be surprised.
I wish I could have stopped my own breathing, but I couldn't. All I could do was sit there, and the next one was in my face before I knew it. God, my lungs wouldn't stop. They were so greedy for the stale, musty surroundings. I didn't notice so much with the first one, but after the second had been fully inhaled through my body and the third was taking its place, something was happening. My hands were starting to scab up with that dried out, black affliction. I could feel my face, my insides, my feet, hardening in to flaky husks of malignant death.
I could move.
It wasn't much, just a twitch. My pinky, maybe. It was barely anything, but I felt it. It required all of my will power, more determination in those next few moments, than I've ever mustered in my whole life. I can't explain why, but I heard my family on the other side of this stone prison. Somewhere, way out there. A crease was opening in the wall, but when I shattered whatever malevolent force that kept me bonded to the stone, my foot crumbled in to dust when I tried to step on it. I was still breathing, and the fourth one was at my face, now. They moved, glided, stepped with me whenever I made any sort of progress forward.
The crease was ever widening, and I could see hints of sunlight. The deafening roar of old stone grinding against stone made me feel as though my head might explode. I was crawling, and the tips of my fingers were bleeding out on to the floor with the force that I exerted upon them. The fourth was almost completely within me, and I knew I would not survive another. I had to stop breathing, or break out. I preferred the latter. The sight of green grass and the hints of a blue sky on the outside of the tomb encouraged me further. The fifth would not move away from my face. With every breath I took, I inhaled more of the copies of myself. They were killing me.
When my fingers sank in to soft grass rather than dead earth, I stopped breathing. I was too weak to build enough momentum to escape quickly, and another round of whatever these things were doing to me would be it. I just knew...... I could feel it deep down. I was sapped of strength, but empowered with a burning desire to live, to survive.
I'm sorry. I want to live. I won't be selfish anymore. Please don't let me die.
My brother's hand was gripping my own, now, and he was pulling me upward, in to fresh air. That first breath in that instance was the most delicious air I have ever tasted. Glorious, filled with life.
If it were not for my family's begging, perhaps I would have never woken up in that room. Those things, as terrible as they were, were one of the best things that ever happened to me.
I never smoked another cigarette again.
-Credited to Violent Harvest
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