Guilt

My short stories are so melancholy :p

The stench of vomit mars the almost-perfect stillness of the early morning darkness.

The sickness pervading me is one that I myself have created. An awful conflation of regret and fear, it bristles deep in my abdomen like a roiling tangle of rusted scissors. Even without the slightest provocation it bites deeply into the soft tissue of my stomach; as its jaws tighten, I can feel more teeth growing--puncturing, dividing my flesh.

The anguish brings tears to my eyes, and the leaden weight of my internal serrations, vomit to my mouth. This regurgitation of salt and bile mingles in a malingering stain upon the pillow I am clutching.

Oh, God..

There's no way this is real, no way this actually happened.

I know myself--this isn't "me".

But, still, the memories of what should never have occurred blister through my mind like boiling razors, shredding and desecrating my consciousness. When I close my eyes to forget, the inescapable pressure merely brands upon my eyelids a nightmare-scape where reality is still reality.

My arm, my fingers--impossible.

My own limb could have never committed such a betrayal.

Every muscle in my body tenses with a violent shiver of remorse--just as suddenly, nausea flows from the poisoned teeth in my stomach, causing me to shiver and sweat. I sob, hiccuping in the mixture of vomit and saliva that has flecked my trembling lip.

I've always dabbled in self-destruction, but this is beyond anything I could have imagined. This wasn't my plan--this is not even remotely relatable to any plan I've ever had.

My heart literally feels like it is pumping ice--God, I'm so cold. I spit a globule of self-condemnation into the half-light. The rusty talons of petrified disgust tear my bowels from my esophagus, allowing the chemical burn of acid to spread towards my heart.

It misses a beat, which I substitute with a helpless sob.

Accepting full responsibility will devour me, and yet there is no other accomplice to allocate the blame to.

God, why the hell did I pull that trigger.

Author's Note

The purpose of this story was to create a physical sensation of guilt in the reader. I wanted to turn it into something physical, something fully tangible.

Reviews

[Judy Ponceby]

Very intense. So many sharp objects inflicting pain, teeth, razors, scissors... I think you lead us down the path of guilt in this. But perhaps because I am a nurse I have a different view. I don't feel responsible for this persons actions, or that i could have prevented them. I'm fascinated to know what brought him, as I'm assuming its a he, to this point. Your descriptions are brutally vivid, and let me tell you from personal experience :) accurate. Although the technical part of "tear my bowels from my esophagus" distracts me, as they are not specifically connected. The adjectives throughout you have used heighten the sense of pain, mental and physical agony. Excellent write once again Ben. Sometimes we need to get the melancholy out. Here's a pink elephant for you :) LOL

[Skoo.]

Wow.
Your writing always leaves me speechless...
But I actually kind of accidently forgot to breathe when I was reading this xD
Amazing, as always...
It definitely fulfilled it's purpose, I could feel everything... Did you actually shoot someone? 'Cause this so fantastically descriptive, there's no way it could be pure imagination O:
I'm not gonna list everything in this that I love. I don't wanna end up writing you an essay d:
But yeah, awesome write (: