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Guys, I'll explain why this is untitled on the inside. I think you'll like the reason. It is for Poetry to Stories. -Adnarim Smada
Now before I let you dude bros read this, let's get something clear: THE WRITING BELOW IS MY WORK. PROPERTY OF ADNARIM SMADA, COMPLETELY ORIGINAL, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. I HAVE LAWYERS AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY BOOKS IN PROGRESS IS WRITTEN OUT LONG HAND SO DON'T TRY ANY FUNNY BUSINESS OKAY? GOOD. ENJOY. I APPRECIATE YOUR FEEDBACK.
A Poetry to Stories Entry
Written by Adnarim Smada
Oh, why couldn't he have held back more?! Why did he have to eat so much tonight?
You have ruined two years of hard work on a binge like that. You probably gained ten kilos with that little episode!
The bitch wouldn't shut up! All night long the disorder had been plaguing Conrad and it was driving him to madness. He couldn't ignore it and relax either because he knew very well that the nagging to purge was only going to get worse. Much worse.
Mein Gott, you are such a worthless piece of flesh, oh and FAT. Why don't you go kill yourself and get it over with so nobody has to gouge their eyes out looking at you, you are so disgusting-
Conrad dug his fingertips into his forehead to try and clear the abusive voice. It didn't work so he clung tighter to Alexander who was out cold next to him, had been for the past few hours, and tired not to cry. This was absolute torture.
You sick pig. You need to purge yourself of that food, do you hear me?! You will obey Conrad. We have both been in this together too long for you to destroy all you have built up for us now. I know you have the means to do this so why do you keep evading? The sooner you get up and vomit your brains out, the sooner you'll be forgiven... until the next time you fuck up this bad again-
That was always how the taunts went. Purging equaled redemption and starvation supposedly equaled godliness. Conrad knew he wouldn't feel that way afterward, he'd definitely spend the night sobbing his eyes out because yet again, he'd sunk so low but still he got up and without a sound sulked over to one of his bags, nearly tripping over himself in the pitch black room in the process.
At a boy. See how much easier your life is when you listen to me?
Conrad wanted to have a screaming fit, you know, maybe bash his head into the wall a few times. Why couldn't the cunt just give him a moment's peace? I mean he was (very reluctantly) doing what was ordered of him.
His hand closed shakily around the item he had sought out. He hated having to resort to actually using it but come on, he had no choice.
No, strike that. There was always a choice. That was what made this all so degrading as he noiselessly closed off the door to the ensuite.
The label on the bottle glinted evilly in the sharp light, a nasty contrast with brown that composed it.
Go ahead Conrad. Do what you must. The disease urged and in that second seemed to take over him. Conrad wasn't there anymore. He took three times the recommended dose and hell, yeah it was going to get messy, bulimic tendencies always were, it was to be expected and frowned upon by all anorexics but it sure was better than shoving your fingers down your throat until you puked.
He was being punished severely; his self-discipline had been lacking and he deserved this. Snot, tears, and other bodily fluids flew from him as he desperately tried to heave away the never ending feelings of nausea and self-hatred.
He couldn't stop. God it hurt so much. Why couldn't this awful ailment just let up and end his life already, just take him away from this cruel world.
Truthfully it sickened him even farther than he already was, how simple it all was. He could just find any sharp object and slit his wrists. Then it would be done. He'd be no more. If only he was able to get off his damn knees for two seconds but it just kept coming.
The contractions of his stomach was some of the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life and there wasn't even vomit anymore. It had depleted itself to straight stomach acid and saliva.
His digestive tract was being ripped apart, his throat was on fire. He even saw blood soon enough. Conrad was dehydrating rapidly and beginning to feel extremely lightheaded, not to mention for the longest time he'd had a biting migraine from Hell.
The person slamming things around in a frantic rush while he was pretty much drowning in his own vomit really wasn't helping him at all. That person he would soon find out was Alexander.
He saw him out of the corner of his eye and by the way he held the medication and the way his green eyes had exceedingly darkened to almost a dead emerald, Conrad knew he'd figured out exactly how much he'd taken of the stuff.
"Why?" Conrad barely even registered the guitarist who had dropped to his knees next to him and was a trembling mess. He was more concerned with not losing half of his vital organs along with the garbage that spewed forth.
There was another being there as well. Hallucination or true reality, he wasn't sure. All he knew was for certain, it was the earthly representation of the voice that had been tormenting him for so long. It was frighteningly beautiful yet so hideously ugly at the same time. It was himself, yet it was an unachievable goal.
"I- I'm sorry Alex." Conrad rasped and choked violently. "I had... I had... to get rid of it..."
Now Conrad quit fighting to hang on though one might have been able to say he'd surrendered long ago. Conrad Von Schließen ultimately collasped and waited for the blackness that was sure to come.