Seattle, Washington "Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."
-Friedrich Nietzsche 1 follower / 158 words
The breathe in my pen grew shallow. Each scribble whittled me down. Before I knew it, the pen that I wrote with ran out of ink Just before my heart ran out out of beats This was a story not to be finished But the ink stains on my hands Were like the scars of my past. A constant reminder.
He threw caution into his red cup. He named his drink the forget-me-not. This would be the night of remembrance. One-fourth Sprite and three-fourths *****. The crisp wind greeted him as he stepped outside.
He charged into the night. Forget-me-not. He babbled with his friends. Forgt-me-not. He took another sip. Forgt-me-nit. He danced with a girl. Firgtn-e-nit. He drank every drop of his forget-me-not. fIrgtne-nit
He went till the break of dawn only to be swept up by the wind. The next day he woke up with saliva crust down the side of his mouth. He had forgotten. The night forgot him.