Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Scene of Disaster
0 reviewsMultiple brown and green bottles sat upon the side table, a few soldiers knocked on their sides after a treacherous battle with sobriety the night before.
4Insightful
Eyes blinked open lazily, their view slowly focussing on the speckled ceiling. A beam of sun coming in through the large balcony drapes and caught at the wrong angle caused the eyes to squint in offence. While the eyes adjusted to the light hands came to wrestle the sheets until they bore more resemblance to a rectangle than the clumped up ball they had previously been.
Palms pushing against the mattress to prop up the bare torso attached, eyes were finally able to take in the surrounding scene. Deserted clothing lay scattered across the hotel floor, a near empty suitcase solemnly sitting by the door. Multiple brown and green bottles sat upon the side table, a few soldiers knocked on their sides after a treacherous battle with sobriety the night before.
The sun creates a dream like glow throughout the room, its light bouncing of white walls and beige furniture. Rays catch glimpses of dust motes in the stale air and a mouth tastes the aftermath of one too many soldiers down or simply not enough for the flavour not to register. A damp hand clenches as the stomach resents the dead and not fast enough feet fling over the mattress. One two three four lunging steps to the toilet and just barely enough time to get that lid up before ghosts of the past start spilling into the depths below. Unnoticed tears stain a face, caused by the pain of letting go the remnants of a war so long ago lost. At least the stomach empties quickly for there wasn’t much substance to begin with in the start. A lazy arm with no will barely lifts the limp hand that so easily falls upon the lever with the weight of an axe.
Without strength nor will the body is forced to keel over; face pressed against chilled tiles between the toilet and shower. It’s as eyes take in the grime that resides on the underbelly of the beast that has seen too many ends that the mind comes to focus and produces its first thought of the day.
This is me.
This is my face pressed against the fucking freezing tiles looking at the disgusting shit underneath a toilet in a hotel room. Pushing myself up I take a moment to let my body adjust in its slow state. My eyes half close in an attempt to save themselves from the daggers the sun is throwing my way while I try to remember how walking works. Slowly my feet shuffle towards the room. It takes more effort than I thought and I could have sworn gravity had never been so heavy.
The new sight of details before me is the scene of disaster. Bottles lay everywhere, tossed to the side once their duty was fulfilled. Unknown pills lay on the bedside table between the bottles there. Deep blue and bright red along with a few odd shaped whites sit perkily in a row. They are the only order in this chaos. Clothes lay everywhere in self-conscious clumps, the suitcase vacant and crooked by the door as though kicked there. Trash from former meals and unknown items decorate the place all over. I lean my unsteady weight upon the door frame as I look down on it all. The scene paints the clear image of a wrecked man. It takes a moment for my mind to register that I am that wrecked man, and one more for me to remember that I don’t care. I’m not supposed to fucking care any more.
Struggling slightly I propel myself to the bed, landing face down into the pillow. It’s hard to breathe but I’m diligently not caring but it’s already started. Counting the seconds I wonder how I can make this internal clock stop. Too soon I know it had been somewhere around 8698 hours, which came to something like 31276852 seconds but not exactly because I messed up the maths somewhere and that doesn’t even matter. What does is the fact that this is me. This is me faced down on a bed, my body shaking and sweating as I come down from whatever I had taken last night, no idea as to what I’d done for an uncountable number of days and the taste of vomit still on my tongue.
This is me without you.
Day number 362.
AN: I was trying a new style of writing and this is what happened. The first half may be a little on the metaphorical/flowery/confusing side but it's supposed to be like that so don't worry if you didn't understand completely. I don't know if I will continue on from this one day or keep it as a one shot, but at the moment I can't really think of where to go with it so let's just say it's a OS. Again, it can be from any ones POV and they could be talking about any one. Yes, I did have two certain people in mind when writing it but I will not reveal their identities at this time. And yes, I am putting this in two categories and if that angers anyone let me know and I will make the choice between the two but I think it should be alright. Thank you for reading!
COMMENTS, CRITIQUE, SUGGESTIONS all wanted. I would really appreciate knowing what you think of this so even if you just rate it out of ten without saying anything that would be cool... But you know, saying something would be even cooler.
Palms pushing against the mattress to prop up the bare torso attached, eyes were finally able to take in the surrounding scene. Deserted clothing lay scattered across the hotel floor, a near empty suitcase solemnly sitting by the door. Multiple brown and green bottles sat upon the side table, a few soldiers knocked on their sides after a treacherous battle with sobriety the night before.
The sun creates a dream like glow throughout the room, its light bouncing of white walls and beige furniture. Rays catch glimpses of dust motes in the stale air and a mouth tastes the aftermath of one too many soldiers down or simply not enough for the flavour not to register. A damp hand clenches as the stomach resents the dead and not fast enough feet fling over the mattress. One two three four lunging steps to the toilet and just barely enough time to get that lid up before ghosts of the past start spilling into the depths below. Unnoticed tears stain a face, caused by the pain of letting go the remnants of a war so long ago lost. At least the stomach empties quickly for there wasn’t much substance to begin with in the start. A lazy arm with no will barely lifts the limp hand that so easily falls upon the lever with the weight of an axe.
Without strength nor will the body is forced to keel over; face pressed against chilled tiles between the toilet and shower. It’s as eyes take in the grime that resides on the underbelly of the beast that has seen too many ends that the mind comes to focus and produces its first thought of the day.
This is me.
This is my face pressed against the fucking freezing tiles looking at the disgusting shit underneath a toilet in a hotel room. Pushing myself up I take a moment to let my body adjust in its slow state. My eyes half close in an attempt to save themselves from the daggers the sun is throwing my way while I try to remember how walking works. Slowly my feet shuffle towards the room. It takes more effort than I thought and I could have sworn gravity had never been so heavy.
The new sight of details before me is the scene of disaster. Bottles lay everywhere, tossed to the side once their duty was fulfilled. Unknown pills lay on the bedside table between the bottles there. Deep blue and bright red along with a few odd shaped whites sit perkily in a row. They are the only order in this chaos. Clothes lay everywhere in self-conscious clumps, the suitcase vacant and crooked by the door as though kicked there. Trash from former meals and unknown items decorate the place all over. I lean my unsteady weight upon the door frame as I look down on it all. The scene paints the clear image of a wrecked man. It takes a moment for my mind to register that I am that wrecked man, and one more for me to remember that I don’t care. I’m not supposed to fucking care any more.
Struggling slightly I propel myself to the bed, landing face down into the pillow. It’s hard to breathe but I’m diligently not caring but it’s already started. Counting the seconds I wonder how I can make this internal clock stop. Too soon I know it had been somewhere around 8698 hours, which came to something like 31276852 seconds but not exactly because I messed up the maths somewhere and that doesn’t even matter. What does is the fact that this is me. This is me faced down on a bed, my body shaking and sweating as I come down from whatever I had taken last night, no idea as to what I’d done for an uncountable number of days and the taste of vomit still on my tongue.
This is me without you.
Day number 362.
AN: I was trying a new style of writing and this is what happened. The first half may be a little on the metaphorical/flowery/confusing side but it's supposed to be like that so don't worry if you didn't understand completely. I don't know if I will continue on from this one day or keep it as a one shot, but at the moment I can't really think of where to go with it so let's just say it's a OS. Again, it can be from any ones POV and they could be talking about any one. Yes, I did have two certain people in mind when writing it but I will not reveal their identities at this time. And yes, I am putting this in two categories and if that angers anyone let me know and I will make the choice between the two but I think it should be alright. Thank you for reading!
COMMENTS, CRITIQUE, SUGGESTIONS all wanted. I would really appreciate knowing what you think of this so even if you just rate it out of ten without saying anything that would be cool... But you know, saying something would be even cooler.
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