Bones'n'wires: Kittin's Journey

WARNING!!

This story features vivid imagery of violence and gore

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Bones ‘n’ wires

Kittin’s Journey

Chapter one

The year was 1875, a year that had been joyous for some, others, like myself, weren't so fortunate. Oh this earth, the earth called excogitatoris what a world it is. Oh so many a people have disappeared where they've gone is a mystery to us all. The people of the past have preferred to commandeer it as a universal sanctuary. For while the peasants and bourgeoisie hold up within their shops and homes within the grassy hills, up there beyond them is a magical world, one filled with floating islands surrounded by clouds. Oh, how I wish I could ascend beyond the clouds to see the lands for which they hold abroad from our obstinate civilization.

Tis not as if someone hadn’t thought of a way to advance to the islands, quite the contrary for a particularly beautiful maiden had once thought of creating a rocket that could make you reach the clouds. The rocket would be strapped to a person’s posterior and when the fuse that would have been lit would reach the gunpowder, within the steel box, it would cause such a depth force from the explosion it would propel you high enough to reach the islands in the clouds.

People called her crazy “it would never work” they would tell her, “you’ll end up ripping the pretty skin off your bones” they would jeer. I still remember that day the brave maiden shouted “I’ll prove it to you! I will make it! and when I do you’ll be rueing the day you told me that it won’t happen! that there will never be a kingdom in the clouds!” The words reminisced in my ear as she lit the pack. Up, up, up she went above the clouds. People watched in terror and wonder as she still flew up higher until we saw her reach her life’s extremity. She smashed into the jagged rock on the bottom of the island. The people watched her lifeless body be continuously propelled deeper into the spike-like rock before the rocket was out of propellant energy finally falling back to the ground with a deafening crunch. The townsfolk unmangled her corps full of holes, drenched in bodily fluids, limbs contorted, her face now pale, her hands cold and her usually silky smooth hair now tangled and matted with blood. This brave maiden was my mother, who had gone above the clouds with the lands she most desperately wanted to see right before her grasp but yet had been bitterly torn from her.

I had run to my mother in a desperate attempt to hear her one last time, a time to say goodbye, but I had never gotten that chance for when I gazed at my mother I couldn’t bear the sight of her for her eyes, her loving eyes, had been pierced and impaled along with the rest of her fragile, limp body. They carried her away, I was the one who had to tell my father, who had loved my mother very much, that she had been torn from our lives by the grips of death. My father couldn’t stand the sight of my mother’s deceased corpse in the state it was in so he was absent from her funeral.

When I gazed upon my mother in her coffin her skin was torn, in some places you could see the bone. She was dressed in emerald green which matched her maroon hair. The green would have complimented her eyes perfectly, but in place of her eyes were sunflowers she looked at peace, you couldn't see the holes in her body, but yet I knew that she was locked in immortal pain. Her body was closed in the coffin and carried to the graveyard where she was lowered to the grown and buried, forever.

If not enough pain had been burdened upon me  upon arrival at my home I saw the gruesome sight of my father hanging from the chandelier in the foyer, eyes rolled in the back of his head. It was too much to handle, I turned and tried to walk away but the sickeningly sight got the better of me, I curled over and vomited. Once I had come to I left to find someone to help. This was the mark of when my journey began.