Daylight

The daylight penetrates the skin.

The light still forever burns me. Dare I look out the dusty window to see only the daylight that pierces my skin. The window fills itself with dirt and the dead skin cells that even they realize that being near me only causes pain. It's only natural for them to leave my body, and never again return. Even if they do not have a brain or feelings, they may still realize that they should never be near me. I will never wipe away the glass, for I do not wish to see past the dust. The Sun's desire is to kill me, or so I assume. I despise the light.

I do have an appearance, if you wish to know. My hair shaved a few inches short, pure black. If it were to be in a room full of white, it would be the only shading there. And my eyes-that were continuously called "gorgeous" throughout my childhood-are a light gray, almost white. I hate them with a forever burning passion. I wear dark clothing, and my skin is blindingly pale. I sit in the corner of my room all day, dreading upon life and its horrid aspects that I dare live with. I want to die, but the Darkness prevents me.

My mother will never speak to me, nor I speak to her. The only thing that ever happens is that she stares at me, and gives me a distressed, exaggerated look. She bursts into tears, and then becomes furious, throwing dishes around the room and screaming, "YOU ARE NOT THE SON I BORE!" It does not hurt me. I am used to such feelings.

My father... My father is dead. But I am ecstatic that he is. An abusive father he was. If I were to go near him, he would grab me by the neck and throw my across the room. I never bothered getting up, for he would just sprint over and throw me again. Bruises would be covering my body the next day, and blood would be stained onto my skin and clothes.

But I am not depressed. I want to die, but I am not depressed. I would kill myself if the Darkness would allow me. The black dusk-the Darkness-tells me not to do so. I sound insane to you, do I not? But perhaps it is you who is not sane. For only I can see the black dusk, and I am called deranged. But the Darkness tells me I am the one who is judicious, I am the one who makes judgments, I am the one who is truly normal. Yet I await the day to fulfill my "quest", if they ever were to give me one. I have not heard of it yet. But this quest does not amuse me. I want to die. I want to see my blood drain onto the floor and let it be the last thing I see before I pass away. Blood is beautiful, and many people refuse to appreciate it. But I've always had a question.

Why is it that I may only see the black dusk?

Author's Note

Again, I apologize that it's poorly written. I had to redo it, but it was much better before.

Reviews

[Pickles McDickerson]

fapfapfapfapfapfap

[MusicMartyrs]

wow there's a lot of emotion conveyed in this
great start

[Laura]

I don't think that this is poorly written. It was interesting in my opinion because you show a lot of different aspects of the character rather quickly and it flows. I like how you have this character that you are able to write so that the reader is in the character's head, it's very cool. It's also very sad, but I think that it is an interesting story that you have started. I can't wait to see more : )

[Vanna Renee]

It's very interesting. Within only a few paragraphs I knew several different aspects of the character.

[RunsWithCats]

I thought it was well written. It could be a little confusing, but the way you wrote like the reader was in the character's mind was quite something. I do really like it, though a little sad, it really reads....intriguingly. Very interesting. -God Bless :)