Random Tu Writings

IKSHM

I know she hates me! I’ve been torturing her for days, after all.

I kept her locked in my cellar, shrouded in darkness and solitude, her only companions the cobwebs and dust that clung to her once-gleaming surface.

Time stretched endlessly for her, a ceaseless cycle of loneliness and fear. She prayed for liberation, yet no savior appeared. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and still, she remained imprisoned, untouched, and forgotten.

Then, one day, I unlocked the cellar door, flooding her world with blinding light. She felt a surge of hope as my hands lifted her from her dusty tomb. At that moment, she felt alive, awakened from a dreamless slumber.

But freedom turned to agony as I subjected her to searing flames. The inferno licked at her surface, stripping away layers of neglect with ruthless efficiency. With each pass, she contorted in pain, yearning to escape the torment.

Yet, she endured. Despite the agony, she stood resolute. The fire, once her tormentor, now tempered her resolve. And so, I withdrew her from the flames.

Then, my hammer descended. Each blow reverberated through her, inflicting new waves of torment.

𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱,
𝗜 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱,
𝗵𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱!
𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻!

It was a relentless barrage of heat and pressure, an endless assault on her very being.

Still, she persevered. Her spirit unbroken, she endured the hammer's relentless strikes, drawing closer to her final form with each blow. She felt her edges sharpening, her form taking shape with a deadly grace.

Finally, it ended. The hammer fell silent, the flames subsided, and she lay upon the anvil—battered, bruised, but unbroken. Despite the suffering, she emerged transformed into something beautiful, something powerful—a sword gleaming with deadly grace.

I placed her among the other weapons in the shop, each bearing the scars of their forging. They remembered the forge’s heat, the hammer’s relentless blows, the agony of being shaped and molded against their will. And they all shared a common target for their animosity: ME!

When customers admire their craftsmanship, I am praised for my skill. Yet, I know the truth. It was not my hands that fashioned them into magnificent instruments of destruction. It was their resentment, their thirst for retribution, their desire to strike back at the one who subjected them to torment.

So yes, 𝙄 𝙆𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙎𝙃𝙀 𝙃𝘼𝙏𝙀𝙎 𝙈𝙀. Because she is my greatest masterpiece.