I remember the telling signs, of the forsaken path I carved for myself at such a young age, hopelessly lost.
The night terrors with bed wetting, a curiousity for the pain of others, and an undying love of flames.
Triads are sacred, often depicting tales of both good and evil, where I fall somewhere broken in between.
I drank till my belly was full, of that sweet gasoline, a hair trigger away from immolation.
See fire was soothing, watching it all burn was the beginning of my perfect crooked world.
Burning bridges, burning friends, burning anything for no real reason other than a crooked smile.
This wildfire of a tortured soul was doomed the moment I met the truth.
Only existing in the ashes, that evil had given the breathe of life.
I saw them stare, right through me, never knowing what I was.
Hating them for it, for this alienation, I will always remember.
But this is but a fragment, of a fractured soul.
Each broken shard screeching in the night for control.
I have never known peace, just the madness.
We do not even recognize ourselves anymore.
Just faceless creatures, struggling for singularity.
We bow to our king.
His fiendish broken crown.
Flashing his fangs.
He laughs.
Armageddon.
Writing excercise that was suggested to me. A story starting with 20 words going all the way down to 1.
