“Stinging, stinging, stinging”
Dylan jotted down in his journal as the vodka began to permeate his brain. This is how it always started, with the unbearable splitting feeling. but Dylan knew the reward so well. The early winter breeze bit at his earlobes and cheeks as he wrote. Jotting down the odds and ends, he began summing up
his day. Of course, there was the usual nonsense.
“As of late me and Reb have been…”
“Whist walking down the hallway I saw…”
“You know sometimes I just…”
/insert a quote here/
“I fucking can’t stand when…”
It was all there to keep him sane. he wrote because something felt so good about it. Sexy ink swerving on the dry paper. Words filling up the lines.
Dylan lived for this. He felt like the Warhol of writing as he scripted each sacred line. The holy poetry spilled out at a unholy rate. The vodka suddenly began to grab at his brain cells. The neurons were on fire. The pollution spread to his hands. They scribed his personal bible. One must admit it’s fitting for a homemade God to carry his legacy with him. Dylan looked into the blue sky. Winters approaching sting began numbing his earlobe. Dylan leaned over the window and closed it. The pale moon was beginning to reflect on the dusk filled mountain valleys and boulders of Colorado. The soft beauty of the night was cascading in on a blue curtain. The night grew colder as Dylan wrapped himself in a warm flannel blanket. Dylan loved this almost Martian landscape outside. The red rocks turned a deep purple at night. Little did Dylan know these valleys would soon fill with the howling of his dead memory. They would howl their complaints on the wind with every feeling Dylan felt. Stitching his memory into the rocks, he began to daydream. His brain went into a vodka induced spiral of fantasies. Sometimes on these nights he dreamed of flying, sometimes he dreamed of somebody to keep him warm. Tonight felt so bitter, he could almost feel how much more beautiful this moment could be with a special girls. It was a unattainable high of feelings. How he’d love to wrap his arms around her in a cashmere embrace. Softly leave burning kisses on chilled cheeks. Floating his long fingers in her hair while caressing her face. It was at thoughts like these that he felt his heart burn of longing. Eric wanted sex and submission. Dylan just felt more passively about sex, it sounded nice. But nothing quite stacked up to that feeling of happiness and intimacy he got from loving a person. Cuddling made the depression feel long in the past for a few hours. As the night softly permeated the land around him. He jotted a few more thoughts into his journal as he snapped out of his reveries. Tonight the feelings were burning, tonight would find its way back someday in that howling call of the void landscape. The rocks would never forget how Dylan Klebold stared at them with a yearning for something.
Dylan wished he could find that girl. So many had promised the hope of fulfilling his other half. But they all turned into dead ends. He could almost feel his dream girl twisting his ear and giggling in his arm. He was begging to tire. He lay his hair on the pillow and closed his heavy lids. Sweet dreams soon followed.
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Thank you for reading. :- )
I would enjoy some feedback on this one. It was a little experimental as I’m trying to pin down my writing style.
Seeya later