Venom

 

            I smiled, feeling its warning presence. Hot and fast in my veins, my heart pulsed, coursing my blood through its systematic track. Literally bleeding into each limb, I shivered with tension. Vision blurring, and refocusing, the haze dissipated before my eyes. Drums quivering, everything was heard at once, random words slipping in and out, barely giving time to register. Heard through a sea shell, the echoes came fast and short, sorting themselves into my memory. My tongue was stale. Not surprising, as I deprived it of air. The scents of metal tarnished my senses, bold and blunt. Cool and smooth, my weapon glided from corner to corner of my vision, sinking through dimensions as those echoes �" blest and sweet �" left my mind and filled the home their inspiration had created. My body engorged; the black beaded at my finger tips, and slid down my staff to its victim. Instant injection shattered the blank face, as the black continued to flow, now dripping away, seeking a new victim.

By and by, my grasp could hold no longer, as my words came to their final resting place. Pen slipping to a clatter, the black continued to pour, not onto the pages, but upon the floor. My work finished, it too began to breed this black that I couldn’t help but release into the world. A mind had grown free of restraints, and bred in rejoice. The black seeped now through my body, and having filled the page, ventured through the floorboards, and left to the rest of the world. Like a plague, the black thoughts would taint those of white, already conceived and determined. Slowly, undetected, the dark echoes these notions withheld would erupt and bleed into the minds of others.

 A virus as none other, the black would spread across the world, ensnaring the intellect of the bright and dull. No longer a faint echo or crude mass of black, the thoughts would refine and strengthen, stabilizing into the memories of mankind. Still, man would soon grow immune to such Siren’s echoes. The idea would gradually die, slowly fading, losing potency at its dispersal. The saturation less intense, the black would fade to the white it had once tainted so long ago. What was once my venom to the world, would turn to conformity’s cure, and finally into conformance itself.

Author's Note

This story was originally written for Writer's Window, but was never posted. Therefore, I'm going to reuse the Author Note from Writer's Window...

I can't believe it. I wrote a short story. Or, as close to a short story as I could get. More descriptive exerpt then anything. I think it as my poem that aspired to be a story. It just couldn't give up its roots. Anyway, this is just an idea I had at three o'clock in the morning last night. Strange, cause that's when it seems I think clearest. My perception may be distorted from exhaustion though....right, the poem. Many, if not all of the world's greatest theories and ideas about our world and the universe around us have been viewed with some distaste at one time or another. Some have even faced death for their thoughts. Appearing blackened and alien, few accept these ideas, but if they ring true, eventually the world may accept the idea. Once this thought reaches complete acceptance however, that idea turns into what it first attempted to break down. Really, I hate to make a movie reference, but it's like in Dark Knight, with all that jazz about "dying as a hero or living long enough to see yourself become the villain." Hope that clears any more confusion.