Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
D/Y/S/T/R/Y/R
2 Reviews"Weak laughter rasps from my cracked, bleeding lips. I figure that I'll die now. You can't live without a heart, right?"
can't take this anymore.
Their starless,soulless eyes have become a permanent fixture in my night sky. In my early morning sun. They smile down at me, assure me that i won't feel a thing. Somehow, I know they're lying. Up until this point, The only thing I felt was the constant scrape of their dirty claws over my pale, broken skin. I feel so violated by the brush of their fingers across my chest, I don't even attempt stopping the thick, fat tears from rolling down my face. They pick up on my distress, and what looks like a needle connected to a bag of murky liquid is thrust through the skin of my arm, into the vein. By the looks on their faces, they know it's not going to help. Not like they care. They continue cutting holes in my skin, messing around with the treasures inside. More toxins are pumped through my system.
I lose track of time.
They never seem to stop.
The moment one pair of bloodied hands leave my insides alone, another take their place. A fog surrounds my mind and vision, a red mist that never seems to leave. Everything is black, save for the dim bare lightbulb that hangs above my head and the sickening red hue in the distorted eyes of those who mutilate not only my flesh, but my very being. I always shake when I look at their eyes. I try to assure myself that I'm wrong, that these people are just sick fuckers who are cutting me up just for the fun of it.
Yet, in my heart the chilling realisation comes.
These..... Things aren't human. Nor are they humane. The pain they've put me through is enough to send any strong man insane. And I've never been strong.
I have no concept of time here, only the disturbing feeling that I will go through an eternity of this before the pain stops and they give me the mercy of dying.
Oddly enough, the pain does stop.
It's been days (weeks?) and now i'm numb. I don't feel them remove my heart, and I only realise once a grotesque hand roughly pulls it from my chest.
Weak laughter rasps from my cracked, bleeding lips. I figure that I'll die now. You can't live without a heart, right?
Wrong.
I'm hysterical at this point. Somehow, I miraculously manage to overcome the force of the morphine that has me pinned down to the cold steel worktop. I thrash against the arms that now restrain me machines go crazy. Monsters scream. Blood squirts upwards and pours over my face.
The last thing I feel is an air mask strapped over my face. I breathe in desperately, but the air tastes strange.
Then everything goes black.
Ooo is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it a oneshot? Is it a full length start to a story? Who knows.
Their starless,soulless eyes have become a permanent fixture in my night sky. In my early morning sun. They smile down at me, assure me that i won't feel a thing. Somehow, I know they're lying. Up until this point, The only thing I felt was the constant scrape of their dirty claws over my pale, broken skin. I feel so violated by the brush of their fingers across my chest, I don't even attempt stopping the thick, fat tears from rolling down my face. They pick up on my distress, and what looks like a needle connected to a bag of murky liquid is thrust through the skin of my arm, into the vein. By the looks on their faces, they know it's not going to help. Not like they care. They continue cutting holes in my skin, messing around with the treasures inside. More toxins are pumped through my system.
I lose track of time.
They never seem to stop.
The moment one pair of bloodied hands leave my insides alone, another take their place. A fog surrounds my mind and vision, a red mist that never seems to leave. Everything is black, save for the dim bare lightbulb that hangs above my head and the sickening red hue in the distorted eyes of those who mutilate not only my flesh, but my very being. I always shake when I look at their eyes. I try to assure myself that I'm wrong, that these people are just sick fuckers who are cutting me up just for the fun of it.
Yet, in my heart the chilling realisation comes.
These..... Things aren't human. Nor are they humane. The pain they've put me through is enough to send any strong man insane. And I've never been strong.
I have no concept of time here, only the disturbing feeling that I will go through an eternity of this before the pain stops and they give me the mercy of dying.
Oddly enough, the pain does stop.
It's been days (weeks?) and now i'm numb. I don't feel them remove my heart, and I only realise once a grotesque hand roughly pulls it from my chest.
Weak laughter rasps from my cracked, bleeding lips. I figure that I'll die now. You can't live without a heart, right?
Wrong.
I'm hysterical at this point. Somehow, I miraculously manage to overcome the force of the morphine that has me pinned down to the cold steel worktop. I thrash against the arms that now restrain me machines go crazy. Monsters scream. Blood squirts upwards and pours over my face.
The last thing I feel is an air mask strapped over my face. I breathe in desperately, but the air tastes strange.
Then everything goes black.
Ooo is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it a oneshot? Is it a full length start to a story? Who knows.
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