Selcouth . adjective
[sel-couth] . sel-ˌküth
archaic
1. odd, unusual, or extraordinary in appearance, effect, manner, etc; peculiar
2. not of one's own kind, locality, etc; alien; foreign
WARNING: This book contains the following.
- gore
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
One thousand and fifty-five stories.
Give or take, it was around a hundred and forty-eight thousand and four hundred human lives that were lost and wasted.
Fifty-four million and a hundred sixty-six thousand days that I spent repeating the same mistakes in different worlds.
A billion and two hundred ninety-nine million and nine hundred eighty-four thousand hours I had consumed trying to correct my life- trying to pave a new ending for my cursed, forsaken, life. Yet I always end up in the same situation- grieving over my loved ones, watching as they die because of my actions.
It was simply like falling dominoes- one wrong move and everything will crumble down. Even in the slightest mistakes, something manages to pass through me and create a whole destruction- one that was even capable enough to cause the whole world to burn.
I hate it.
I hate how something- someone dictates my life like I'm some puppet in a string.
Like I'm some character they created just for their pure amusement- one they can drag around, throw like some lifeless doll, one they can rip into shreds and stitch back up with poorly done stitches. Old cloth covering up the holes, the flaws, they had created with their own hands, intentional or not.
And here I am again, staring as the love of my life dangles from the air. Their neck was adorned by a rope, the knot tied into a perfect noose- like it was made with delicacy just to mock me. To make fun of me once again.
I slammed my fists on the cold floor, tears dripping from my face as I bit my lip from frustration. "WHY!?" I shouted, banging my palms until it stung. "WHY HIM?! WHY THEM?!"
"IN WHAT PLEASURE DO YOU TAKE IN SEEING ME SUFFERING? WHAT DO YOU GET OUT OF MY PAIN AND TRAGIC LIFE?" I cried, cutting my lip from my sharp teeth as I dug it a bit too far- a bit too hard.
"WHY ME?! AREN'T YOU TIRED OF WATCHING THE SAME PERSON GO THROUGH THE SAME SITUATION- THROUGH THE SAME ENDINGS, OVER AND OVER AND OVER
AND OVER
AND OVER
AND FUCKING OVER AGAIN?!"
I pushed myself up, despite how my palms cried from the weight I had applied on them.
I was just so fed up and so tired of going through this pathetic cycle. I was tired of letting something- someone, stomp all over me and dictate my life in whatever shape or form they wanted it to be.
I wiped my tears away with my dirtied sleeve, a look of anger had appeared, drowning out the grief and agony that I once felt. "I'll bring you down here," I hissed, rage bubbling in my veins as I looked up at the dark ceiling. "From there, to here. I swear on my life that I will let you go through the pain that you made me go through."
My last words hung in the air until I grabbed the gun in the drawer and took the bullet through my head.
This is my 1856 life. And I'll make sure that it'll be my last.
Might as well make it fun along the way. It's going to get boring if I mull over my anger for the rest of my living hours.
I'll rip out these strings that had kept me contained for so long.
Now, I'll write my own story. I'll write about how my life will go. I'll make sure no one will dictate me around any longer.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
