suicidal but a meme idol

Tangled Ghost

a/n this was an assignment for english -  a short story based on the themes and notions of mary shelley's frankenstien. it also has allusions to dante's inferno, Prometheus, and paradise lost. the main general theme i focused on was lost innocence, and responsibility and abandonment. hope you like. peace out girl scout. 

"5,4,3,2,1...5,4,3,2,1." The repeated mutters burgeoned a swell of weedy thorns in the President's throat as her thoughts barked of mutts straining for liberty. Reiterating the numbers in wrenched anticipation, she braced for the onslaught of her decision as she treaded on the cracks of her prestige. Hazy air of madness mercilessly flooded the hounds to awaken a new sombre unknown, each of her steps erupting a guttural assumption of her demise. Ominously, the path became eluded from her vision as the wind blared past her shivering skin, bringing with it an eerie fog, clouding the cracked homes that concaved her mind like the holes in the slumping buildings. Choking gloom infected the President's feeble sanity as her eyes bored into the decayed stuttering street light; her decrepit frailty became aware of her carnage.

"5,4,3,2,1...5,4,3...2...1," echoed her dastardly mumbles reeking the qualm of her treachery as her feet stumble amongst the fractured main street. God's noble serenade was brainwashed out of her mind as tangled calloused serpent's chants gnawed at her heart with every breath of smoked ash of the crumbled buildings. Even as she trampled along the dust of her accorded rule, paralleling her bemused reflection to the weary sky, inch by inch, her breath quaked. Helplessly, she fell victim to the astray cogitation that deciphered her order: her ruling. To let the foes annihilate a defenceless town, handing innocent souls on a silver platter so nothing could wreck her wrathful pride. But even then, she was woefully overwhelmed by culpability that scavenged her faith like a rapacious vulture feasting an impuissant liver.

The air roared. Forcing the shrieks of humanity to silence for the grimacing reaper compelled her to display her face with no sign of weakness as she stomped on shattered glass. An echo whooshed behind Fasila, causing her frame to jolt in the middle of the main street. Tightly, her fist clenched as she prepared to continue her endeavour as she squinted to the haze. Daemons plagued her frame of mind; coercing her tongue to tantalise as it beguiled her purity to be condemned to hell whilst she walked. She danced with the basilisk of Lucifer, his own disciple moulding an insidious verdict on her behalf.

"5,4,3...2...1..." President Fasila heaved against her ribcage. Her thoughts snarled, questioning her moral humanity – which made her skin boil with the consecrated blood of her sins. With every taunted insult from her growling mongrel thoughts, an arrow pierced her for every attempt to rise from the discretions of treasons. Beelzebub coiled her heart as it flicked the harp of life, evoking frigid strains that meddled with Fasila's perceptions. Already foreseeing the consequences of her actions, she was going to make the reaction from the people her scapegoat. To blame the foes. Fasila shook her head as her nails bore into the back of her neck, acknowledging her punishment for her delinquencies amongst the decimated city.

With caution, she trampled on abolished frames erased from the planes of the town that used to thrive. Once flourished earth was but sanctuary for the worms and graveyard for the wide-eyed. The serpent mockingly tightened, burning Fasila's gut with the fire she ransacked. Slowly, the jaunt of a happier ending withered before her. Mutilated screeches of fallen angels begged for mercy, devouring the last shred of probity that guided her benevolence as a faint street lamp flashed in the muggy vicinity. A conjured tornado of maimed ghosts encompassed her, manifesting a depiction of the reprisal spirts. Fasila whirled into a trance which hoodwinked her with the basilisk that mimicked her face for his sinful gain. The ghoul's wails tormented her as they engraved her skin. Their cries of anguish blistered the President's skin with vice as her soul began to congeal. Haunted by the squeals of the wraiths, Fasila knotted her reverie on pitied mud that followed the harrowed shrills.

"Do you hear them? Do you hear their bawls that quake down your spine," the bewitched ghoul cackled as it stood but a metre from Fasila's trembling body under the flickering street light, its eagle eyes scrutinised her felon, but its Cheshire smile exemplified his sly atrocity. Its eyes flashed a vivid crimson, embodying the transgression of Fasila's quietus.

"How far you have fallen from the graces of Allah, that not even I could give you a punishment for your crimes," the shadow spoke so softly, contradicting itself with its devious tongue. It wandered around Fasila's shaking frame as the vicinity of the whirling ghouls imitated the Presidents bitter clemency. In response, she urgently wrapped her arms around her body, but the ambience of the adversary caused her fingers to turn purple. She bowed her head in defeat, attempting to supress the clamoured besieged phantoms. Her palms oozed as she brought her hands before her, her throat clogged as she stared at the vermillion of the souls she'd parched. She tried to rub off the stain, but it was no use.

"Not even the tides of Neptune could cleanse you. You are eternally damned, a cursed wretch until you are ravaged by the hellhounds of your conscience," the shrewd figure tittered against the curve of Fasila. Her chest palpitated as she went to swipe the malicious mane in vain, wishing the dolour of the howls would still. Fasila's intestines wrenched for her defiance by the twist of the shadow's hand.

"They were right about you; you're ultimately the one to fuse the calamity of your own country," the deviant grinned wickedly. It strode around Fasila's state of throe and flicked her head up with its artic finger. Disgusted, she glared at it and black looked the shadowing obscurity.

"But that wasn't me; that was you!" the President bellowed with augmented fury within her bones as the street light that mimicked her hope, burst before her eyes. The daemon stood before her, divulging its face: hers, a mere reflection of the dreary abyss that pillaged her moribund humanity.

"Yet, you were the one who they will blame," the doppelganger maliciously sneered before absorbing into the yowling whirlwind, lacerating a part of Fasila's magnanimity. Her body quaked in desertment. Instantly, her purity snapped as she sundered in vanquish, the ghouls infiltrating the depleted fragility of her mind as she succumbed to the aberration of insanity.

Cowering in absurdity, Fasila stammered, her lips faltering as she snickered. Not even honey could soothe her crippled madness.

They can't know. They can't know that the leader of their country knew about the enemies plans and let it slip by, renouncing a small town. They can't know that their leader subverted her authority to eschew an innocent town out of pride and greed.

Exasperatedly, she coughed on the sludge of doom. Tilting her head up to the clouded havens, blinded by the cruel offence, she condemned her homeland with secrecy. Her eyes twitched, the coldness in her heart beginning to solidify. She would pray, but no God would hear her pleas with the deeds she's done; after all, the paradise of her mind was perpetually lost.

How the world had gone mad.

Her eyes closed, ceasing fire with the serpent, making her its marionette. Adamantly, her eyes flicked open. Fasila stood up to take her shoes off and began to oust into the wreckage she caused, not caring about the ruins infecting her or her feet bleeding; she didn't care. A glacier replaced her altruism, her gut warped, as her neck became rigid, and through her suffering, she walked, allowing no emotion nor hope to seep through the cracks of the brewed storm that wept atop of her brittle vitality. She was but an empty casket, and the basilisk inside her leered in triumph.