The Pine Box
0
Ok guys. This one is kinda long, so bear with me.
Damn. I woke up alive again today. Not that it is possible to wake up dead, but I half expected to be on the other side by now. Each day is harder than the last. After the sins I’ve committed, I’m not sure I deserve to live. Maybe I must live in this agony as penance, I don’t know. All that I do know is that She is gone now, and that I am responsible. None of that is really important though. In fact, nothing holds any semblance of importance now that She is gone. In fact, the only reason that I talk to you now is because I may not be here to tell you tomorrow.
My days are spent in self loathing. I cannot escape the scene of Her death; it plays before my eyes as if some sick fuck is using my head as a screen to view his favorite scene in this farce, this failure at existence we aspire to call my life. Truly it is even less than existence. I wasn’t always like this. I used to be quite the character- smart and funny, a good shot, and I had Her to love. But it seems that my being a good shot is what took Her away from me. My eyes used to shimmer with hope and ambition. I was going places, until She died. Now my eyes are a true reflection of my soul- cold, grey and clouded. My memory taunts me. Why did I not save Her? Surely, as the great man that I was I could have. But I was powerless as I held Her. A shot pierced Her chest, and had popped a lung. Even in Her final agony, She still smiled at me. Her hair covered Her face, and Her eyes twinkled brightly. The light always danced for Her, as if it existed to amplify Her beauty. Are you okay? Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Thank God, I thought I would lose you. As tears trickled down Her cheeks the light danced away, Her eyes looked then like mine do now. Except Hers still had their true color; mine have been contorted by a year of living in this hell, this empty world without Her.
I took another swig from the bottle. I can’t tell what liquor it is anymore, or even if there is any left. It doesn’t matter anyway. No amount of drink can bring Her back. At first I drank to forget; maybe if I was loaded I would not remember, or it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Problem was that the booze just made my imagination go wild. I saw Her more often, in different times of our lives. Soon it just became a habit, and I couldn’t stop. A couple of times I threw the bottle away, but I came to regret that soon afterward. All I have is my brooding, and the juice that gets my imagination going.
As miserable as I am, I’ve given up on life. A couple of times I tried to starve myself. It didn’t work because I’m already at my limit. Any more pain just makes me pass out, and when I awake I find myself greedily satisfying any desires I had. The only one I have never indulged in was the flesh of another. I am no longer capable of love. I have not felt the warmth of another person’s flesh, not even the slightest touch, since She died. I can’t even accept the kindness of those who cared about me, it’s a total waste. No one can fathom my sorrow; no one can make me feel better. The bottle does a better job.
I used to have friends. I say used to because they were still friends even after Her death. They came to my side and tried to comfort me, find any way to help me. I knew that their efforts were fruitless, but I put up with it for a while. It didn’t take long for me to snap. She was gone, and nothing could change that. I no longer had any reason to live. No one understood, and it pissed me off that no one got it. Soon, I no longer had friends, or anyone who cared enough to drop by. I liked it better that way. It’s bad enough that I feel sorry for myself; I don’t need everyone else doing that too.
Time goes on. I don’t even remember why I got into that stupid fight with that moron who made me kill Her. All I remember was the burning rage, a fury such that I could not see straight. Whatever it was, I had to kill him to set it right. That wasn’t what She wanted, though. I was fighting for Her, but She was more worried about me. I guess I really was useless, even then. All I could do was keep from crying too hard. We had been fighting for a while, trading shots from behind cover. She was so worried about me that She ran into the crossfire to stop us. Just before She stepped in, that bastard had jumped out, and I saw my chance. If only I was more patient… None of that matters anymore.
Some people tried to tell me that time heals all wounds. I used to believe that too, until She died. Not even if I lived an eternity could the hole in my heart be mended, not when She could not be there to fill it. It wasn’t only Her that died that night, but me too. My soul went with Her. When I experienced that torture that would dwarf all of hell’s fury, only then did I understand- pain only leaves in a pine box.
I take another swig. The bottle is now empty- or it was empty already. I can’t taste or feel anymore, lest the pain is in my heart. There She is! When we were just little kids- Her sundress and hat were cute. The wind caressed her cheek and played with Her hair. She was a stunning beauty even then. She took my hand and lead me out to our secret spot- the best view of the lake, whether it be sunrise, sunset, or the dark of night. My confession. I couldn’t keep from stuttering. I barely finished the first two words before She answered. She thought it was cute that I was so afraid. Our first kiss- I was so nervous. I bumped Her head, almost bit Her lip, and slobbered all over Her mouth. It was my first kiss, and it was terrible. I couldn’t be happier. We went to see bad movies together- we knew they were terrible, but we went to laugh at the atrocities committed by the good-for-nothing actors and directors. We were thrown out more than once because of how loud we were. That purple dress matched Her hair- It was Her favorite. She would only wear it to see me. Our first time. I had been studying porn and how to books for days on end. None of it helped at all. It was awkward, out of sync, and very surprising. I was thinking too much, and then not at all. I stopped, and had a strange blank stare. We looked back on it fondly as the worst it ever was. We were both clueless. The pregnancy scare. So many powerful emotions erupted within me at once. Fear- Her dad, my being a dad, money, a home. Joy- being a father, father of the child born by the one I love. Uncertainty- were we ready, was She, was I? I was shocked when I heard the news. It looked almost like I was punched in the chest. I had to sit down, and we had one of our most important and intense talks ever. When we sorted everything out, She got Her period. I was actually sad, disappointed. The night I proposed- I took Her back to our secret spot, and we made one last pinky-promise. She wore Her purple dress that night.
This man- that bastard. I just had to kill him. He had the balls to call Her a slut to my face. He said that She had fucked him- and all his friends. When they wanted more, and She didn’t, they raped Her. All at once, then in rounds until they passed out from exhaustion, spilling their filthy seed in Her belly, up Her ass, on Her face. I knew it wasn’t true- She would never cheat on me. She would never let Herself get raped. If She had been raped, She would have told me. It was all lies, filthy, disgusting lies. Abhorrent, malicious, evil lies. Lies, lies, lies…I couldn’t stand for anyone to talk about Her in such a way. His buddies were there, too- lurking in the shadows. Maybe they thought they would make one of those lies the truth. Lies—lies…She loved me. Me! ME! Those animals, trying to defile Her, my angel…I’ll kill you all! And I did, one by one. I hunted them like the animals they were. All, until the last- the one whose mouth those grotesque words spilled from. He who dared to make my angel into something ruined, used. I had saved one bullet for him. It was going to go through his heart- destroy him as he tried to destroy me. She was worried for me the whole time, unable to move for Her fretting. She knew his skill, She knew that only he was a match for me. She tried to stop us before we killed each other. She could not live without me, as I cannot without Her. The one move She made was Her last. My shot got him, but not before it pierced Her lovely breast. Are you okay? Oh, God, don’t do this to me. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. You won’t be fine! You’ve just taken a bullet! Thank God, I thought I would lose you. I’m the one that will lose you! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me here alone! I can’t live without you! As tears trickled down Her cheeks the light danced away.
Goddamnit! Why did you do this to me! All I ever did was love Her! Don’t, don’t take Her from me again! God, I can’t take it anymore! I can’t see Her die again. I can’t watch Her die in my arms. Not again. They say time heals all wounds. That is bullshit. Anyone who says different is lying. My wounds will never heal. Not as long as I live. I bite the barrel and squeeze the trigger. As I said before, pain only leaves in a pine box.
I want to hear EVERYTHING
Damn. I woke up alive again today. Not that it is possible to wake up dead, but I half expected to be on the other side by now. Each day is harder than the last. After the sins I’ve committed, I’m not sure I deserve to live. Maybe I must live in this agony as penance, I don’t know. All that I do know is that She is gone now, and that I am responsible. None of that is really important though. In fact, nothing holds any semblance of importance now that She is gone. In fact, the only reason that I talk to you now is because I may not be here to tell you tomorrow.
My days are spent in self loathing. I cannot escape the scene of Her death; it plays before my eyes as if some sick fuck is using my head as a screen to view his favorite scene in this farce, this failure at existence we aspire to call my life. Truly it is even less than existence. I wasn’t always like this. I used to be quite the character- smart and funny, a good shot, and I had Her to love. But it seems that my being a good shot is what took Her away from me. My eyes used to shimmer with hope and ambition. I was going places, until She died. Now my eyes are a true reflection of my soul- cold, grey and clouded. My memory taunts me. Why did I not save Her? Surely, as the great man that I was I could have. But I was powerless as I held Her. A shot pierced Her chest, and had popped a lung. Even in Her final agony, She still smiled at me. Her hair covered Her face, and Her eyes twinkled brightly. The light always danced for Her, as if it existed to amplify Her beauty. Are you okay? Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Thank God, I thought I would lose you. As tears trickled down Her cheeks the light danced away, Her eyes looked then like mine do now. Except Hers still had their true color; mine have been contorted by a year of living in this hell, this empty world without Her.
I took another swig from the bottle. I can’t tell what liquor it is anymore, or even if there is any left. It doesn’t matter anyway. No amount of drink can bring Her back. At first I drank to forget; maybe if I was loaded I would not remember, or it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Problem was that the booze just made my imagination go wild. I saw Her more often, in different times of our lives. Soon it just became a habit, and I couldn’t stop. A couple of times I threw the bottle away, but I came to regret that soon afterward. All I have is my brooding, and the juice that gets my imagination going.
As miserable as I am, I’ve given up on life. A couple of times I tried to starve myself. It didn’t work because I’m already at my limit. Any more pain just makes me pass out, and when I awake I find myself greedily satisfying any desires I had. The only one I have never indulged in was the flesh of another. I am no longer capable of love. I have not felt the warmth of another person’s flesh, not even the slightest touch, since She died. I can’t even accept the kindness of those who cared about me, it’s a total waste. No one can fathom my sorrow; no one can make me feel better. The bottle does a better job.
I used to have friends. I say used to because they were still friends even after Her death. They came to my side and tried to comfort me, find any way to help me. I knew that their efforts were fruitless, but I put up with it for a while. It didn’t take long for me to snap. She was gone, and nothing could change that. I no longer had any reason to live. No one understood, and it pissed me off that no one got it. Soon, I no longer had friends, or anyone who cared enough to drop by. I liked it better that way. It’s bad enough that I feel sorry for myself; I don’t need everyone else doing that too.
Time goes on. I don’t even remember why I got into that stupid fight with that moron who made me kill Her. All I remember was the burning rage, a fury such that I could not see straight. Whatever it was, I had to kill him to set it right. That wasn’t what She wanted, though. I was fighting for Her, but She was more worried about me. I guess I really was useless, even then. All I could do was keep from crying too hard. We had been fighting for a while, trading shots from behind cover. She was so worried about me that She ran into the crossfire to stop us. Just before She stepped in, that bastard had jumped out, and I saw my chance. If only I was more patient… None of that matters anymore.
Some people tried to tell me that time heals all wounds. I used to believe that too, until She died. Not even if I lived an eternity could the hole in my heart be mended, not when She could not be there to fill it. It wasn’t only Her that died that night, but me too. My soul went with Her. When I experienced that torture that would dwarf all of hell’s fury, only then did I understand- pain only leaves in a pine box.
I take another swig. The bottle is now empty- or it was empty already. I can’t taste or feel anymore, lest the pain is in my heart. There She is! When we were just little kids- Her sundress and hat were cute. The wind caressed her cheek and played with Her hair. She was a stunning beauty even then. She took my hand and lead me out to our secret spot- the best view of the lake, whether it be sunrise, sunset, or the dark of night. My confession. I couldn’t keep from stuttering. I barely finished the first two words before She answered. She thought it was cute that I was so afraid. Our first kiss- I was so nervous. I bumped Her head, almost bit Her lip, and slobbered all over Her mouth. It was my first kiss, and it was terrible. I couldn’t be happier. We went to see bad movies together- we knew they were terrible, but we went to laugh at the atrocities committed by the good-for-nothing actors and directors. We were thrown out more than once because of how loud we were. That purple dress matched Her hair- It was Her favorite. She would only wear it to see me. Our first time. I had been studying porn and how to books for days on end. None of it helped at all. It was awkward, out of sync, and very surprising. I was thinking too much, and then not at all. I stopped, and had a strange blank stare. We looked back on it fondly as the worst it ever was. We were both clueless. The pregnancy scare. So many powerful emotions erupted within me at once. Fear- Her dad, my being a dad, money, a home. Joy- being a father, father of the child born by the one I love. Uncertainty- were we ready, was She, was I? I was shocked when I heard the news. It looked almost like I was punched in the chest. I had to sit down, and we had one of our most important and intense talks ever. When we sorted everything out, She got Her period. I was actually sad, disappointed. The night I proposed- I took Her back to our secret spot, and we made one last pinky-promise. She wore Her purple dress that night.
This man- that bastard. I just had to kill him. He had the balls to call Her a slut to my face. He said that She had fucked him- and all his friends. When they wanted more, and She didn’t, they raped Her. All at once, then in rounds until they passed out from exhaustion, spilling their filthy seed in Her belly, up Her ass, on Her face. I knew it wasn’t true- She would never cheat on me. She would never let Herself get raped. If She had been raped, She would have told me. It was all lies, filthy, disgusting lies. Abhorrent, malicious, evil lies. Lies, lies, lies…I couldn’t stand for anyone to talk about Her in such a way. His buddies were there, too- lurking in the shadows. Maybe they thought they would make one of those lies the truth. Lies—lies…She loved me. Me! ME! Those animals, trying to defile Her, my angel…I’ll kill you all! And I did, one by one. I hunted them like the animals they were. All, until the last- the one whose mouth those grotesque words spilled from. He who dared to make my angel into something ruined, used. I had saved one bullet for him. It was going to go through his heart- destroy him as he tried to destroy me. She was worried for me the whole time, unable to move for Her fretting. She knew his skill, She knew that only he was a match for me. She tried to stop us before we killed each other. She could not live without me, as I cannot without Her. The one move She made was Her last. My shot got him, but not before it pierced Her lovely breast. Are you okay? Oh, God, don’t do this to me. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. You won’t be fine! You’ve just taken a bullet! Thank God, I thought I would lose you. I’m the one that will lose you! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me here alone! I can’t live without you! As tears trickled down Her cheeks the light danced away.
Goddamnit! Why did you do this to me! All I ever did was love Her! Don’t, don’t take Her from me again! God, I can’t take it anymore! I can’t see Her die again. I can’t watch Her die in my arms. Not again. They say time heals all wounds. That is bullshit. Anyone who says different is lying. My wounds will never heal. Not as long as I live. I bite the barrel and squeeze the trigger. As I said before, pain only leaves in a pine box.
I want to hear EVERYTHING
