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Wires. Wires. All over the place. Don’t know where they come from; don’t know where they’re going. They’re all plugged in, I know that. It’s just the how, the when and the where which I’m unsure of.
I’ve searched for years. Tried tracing them all back to the wall. No avail. They’re all so entangled, so intertwined that there’s no use. Just as you’ve got one cornered it slides away. I’ve given up, now. In my youth, with nothing to do but claw at my impregnable walls and long for the outdoors, I used to occupy my mind with these useless games. I’ve chased and chased and chased some more and for what? I’m still in the same mess as I was twenty years ago.
And so now I lay in this room, listening to the buzzing of these cursed wires as electricity zooms off to its anonymous destination. I don’t care anymore. The more I think, the more I wonder. The more I question why I’m here. Pointless. Asking questions isn’t going to change the fact that these plastic coated veins of copper are haunting my existence forevermore.
If I had anything that was up to the job, I’d try slice through one of them, my teeth have been worn down by the desperate attempts to chew through these mean, faceless polymers. My weak excuses for arms don’t have the strength to pull through them. I’d give anything to have that same electricity that curses me to pulse through me for a few seconds. To end it all. To leave these wires behind.
I’ve been in here for too long. No man should be made to suffer these. I’d take an eternity in hell over this. At least then I’d have someone to talk to – someone who I could look in the face and truly hate. I can’t hate wires. You can’t have feelings for inatimate objects. As much as I want them not to be, they’re just a collection of atoms. They’re suffering the same fate as me. Nothing to see, nothing to do. Just be. Don’t think, don’t ponder – just live.
The most painful day came when I realised that I couldn’t remember how it was to be free. The feeling of wind against your face, running through piles of autumn leaves. Laughing. I find myself longing for something to hurt me. Pain is a virtue in a pit such as this. Grey walls, off-white ceiling. Nothing to offend me, nothing to shout at me, to belittle me. I want to feel underappreciated. I want to be taken advantage of. I want to be trodden on by the rich and the greedy. Anywhere away from this.
There’s a disease, I think I remember. Stockholm Syndrome. Falling in love with your captor. If I could find the man who’s put me in here, I’d do much more than love him. With no doors, no windows, no way out its impossible how I got in here.
But no matter how much I think, the wires are always there. Buzzing.
I’ve searched for years. Tried tracing them all back to the wall. No avail. They’re all so entangled, so intertwined that there’s no use. Just as you’ve got one cornered it slides away. I’ve given up, now. In my youth, with nothing to do but claw at my impregnable walls and long for the outdoors, I used to occupy my mind with these useless games. I’ve chased and chased and chased some more and for what? I’m still in the same mess as I was twenty years ago.
And so now I lay in this room, listening to the buzzing of these cursed wires as electricity zooms off to its anonymous destination. I don’t care anymore. The more I think, the more I wonder. The more I question why I’m here. Pointless. Asking questions isn’t going to change the fact that these plastic coated veins of copper are haunting my existence forevermore.
If I had anything that was up to the job, I’d try slice through one of them, my teeth have been worn down by the desperate attempts to chew through these mean, faceless polymers. My weak excuses for arms don’t have the strength to pull through them. I’d give anything to have that same electricity that curses me to pulse through me for a few seconds. To end it all. To leave these wires behind.
I’ve been in here for too long. No man should be made to suffer these. I’d take an eternity in hell over this. At least then I’d have someone to talk to – someone who I could look in the face and truly hate. I can’t hate wires. You can’t have feelings for inatimate objects. As much as I want them not to be, they’re just a collection of atoms. They’re suffering the same fate as me. Nothing to see, nothing to do. Just be. Don’t think, don’t ponder – just live.
The most painful day came when I realised that I couldn’t remember how it was to be free. The feeling of wind against your face, running through piles of autumn leaves. Laughing. I find myself longing for something to hurt me. Pain is a virtue in a pit such as this. Grey walls, off-white ceiling. Nothing to offend me, nothing to shout at me, to belittle me. I want to feel underappreciated. I want to be taken advantage of. I want to be trodden on by the rich and the greedy. Anywhere away from this.
There’s a disease, I think I remember. Stockholm Syndrome. Falling in love with your captor. If I could find the man who’s put me in here, I’d do much more than love him. With no doors, no windows, no way out its impossible how I got in here.
But no matter how much I think, the wires are always there. Buzzing.
That song it now, most of the rest are still great.
Muse are pap, though.
"Tiimmmmeeeee eeeeessss runnnnni" *Bellamy gets shot*
"Thanks."
"Tiimmmmeeeee eeeeessss runnnnni" *Bellamy gets shot*
"Thanks."
I thought the italics were for something...
If you can see me, and I hope you can't, I'm blushing.
If you can see me, and I hope you can't, I'm blushing.
Nono, not Wires, Stryke lad.
mattributé wrote:
>Stockholm Syndrome.
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> No lies, I was so amused
tsktsk
mattributé wrote:
>Stockholm Syndrome.
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> No lies, I was so amused
tsktsk
Using roman numerals doesn't get you extra points, y'know. Nice try though.
Anyway, yeah, the story. I'm also listening to Wires, incidentally. But that's because I put in on before I started reading. Excellent stuff, I'm going to have to consider this one, it's a great topic to get some diverse stuff.
Unless everyone does "Joe:An Electricans Tale", of course.
Anyway, yeah, the story. I'm also listening to Wires, incidentally. But that's because I put in on before I started reading. Excellent stuff, I'm going to have to consider this one, it's a great topic to get some diverse stuff.
Unless everyone does "Joe:An Electricans Tale", of course.
I like wirey, tangley, twiney words. This makes me glad I chose the topic.
Really well written, particularly the first half of the story. Wonderful. However, towards the end I felt like you hadn't decided a direction for the story, so decided to leave it open. This is all well and good, but I just felt it gave the story less impact, when it had the potential for real closure. Something that capped it.
Still really liked it, though.
Really well written, particularly the first half of the story. Wonderful. However, towards the end I felt like you hadn't decided a direction for the story, so decided to leave it open. This is all well and good, but I just felt it gave the story less impact, when it had the potential for real closure. Something that capped it.
Still really liked it, though.
You'll never guess what song just popped up on my computer.
No lies, I was so amused
rardyharaharaharaarr
Amazing.
Anywho ... excellent stuff, matteh.
No lies, I was so amused
rardyharaharaharaarr
Amazing.
Anywho ... excellent stuff, matteh.
Exquisite.
Stayed true to your style and made it work.
But apparently you don't feel the same, so explain.
Stayed true to your style and made it work.
But apparently you don't feel the same, so explain.
Wires. Wires. All over the place. Don’t know where they come from; don’t know where they’re going. They’re all plugged in, I know that. It’s just the how, the when and the where which I’m unsure of.
I’ve searched for years. Tried tracing them all back to the wall. No avail. They’re all so entangled, so intertwined that there’s no use. Just as you’ve got one cornered it slides away. I’ve given up, now. In my youth, with nothing to do but claw at my impregnable walls and long for the outdoors, I used to occupy my mind with these useless games. I’ve chased and chased and chased some more and for what? I’m still in the same mess as I was twenty years ago.
And so now I lay in this room, listening to the buzzing of these cursed wires as electricity zooms off to its anonymous destination. I don’t care anymore. The more I think, the more I wonder. The more I question why I’m here. Pointless. Asking questions isn’t going to change the fact that these plastic coated veins of copper are haunting my existence forevermore.
If I had anything that was up to the job, I’d try slice through one of them, my teeth have been worn down by the desperate attempts to chew through these mean, faceless polymers. My weak excuses for arms don’t have the strength to pull through them. I’d give anything to have that same electricity that curses me to pulse through me for a few seconds. To end it all. To leave these wires behind.
I’ve been in here for too long. No man should be made to suffer these. I’d take an eternity in hell over this. At least then I’d have someone to talk to – someone who I could look in the face and truly hate. I can’t hate wires. You can’t have feelings for inatimate objects. As much as I want them not to be, they’re just a collection of atoms. They’re suffering the same fate as me. Nothing to see, nothing to do. Just be. Don’t think, don’t ponder – just live.
The most painful day came when I realised that I couldn’t remember how it was to be free. The feeling of wind against your face, running through piles of autumn leaves. Laughing. I find myself longing for something to hurt me. Pain is a virtue in a pit such as this. Grey walls, off-white ceiling. Nothing to offend me, nothing to shout at me, to belittle me. I want to feel underappreciated. I want to be taken advantage of. I want to be trodden on by the rich and the greedy. Anywhere away from this.
There’s a disease, I think I remember. Stockholm Syndrome. Falling in love with your captor. If I could find the man who’s put me in here, I’d do much more than love him. With no doors, no windows, no way out its impossible how I got in here.
But no matter how much I think, the wires are always there. Buzzing.
I’ve searched for years. Tried tracing them all back to the wall. No avail. They’re all so entangled, so intertwined that there’s no use. Just as you’ve got one cornered it slides away. I’ve given up, now. In my youth, with nothing to do but claw at my impregnable walls and long for the outdoors, I used to occupy my mind with these useless games. I’ve chased and chased and chased some more and for what? I’m still in the same mess as I was twenty years ago.
And so now I lay in this room, listening to the buzzing of these cursed wires as electricity zooms off to its anonymous destination. I don’t care anymore. The more I think, the more I wonder. The more I question why I’m here. Pointless. Asking questions isn’t going to change the fact that these plastic coated veins of copper are haunting my existence forevermore.
If I had anything that was up to the job, I’d try slice through one of them, my teeth have been worn down by the desperate attempts to chew through these mean, faceless polymers. My weak excuses for arms don’t have the strength to pull through them. I’d give anything to have that same electricity that curses me to pulse through me for a few seconds. To end it all. To leave these wires behind.
I’ve been in here for too long. No man should be made to suffer these. I’d take an eternity in hell over this. At least then I’d have someone to talk to – someone who I could look in the face and truly hate. I can’t hate wires. You can’t have feelings for inatimate objects. As much as I want them not to be, they’re just a collection of atoms. They’re suffering the same fate as me. Nothing to see, nothing to do. Just be. Don’t think, don’t ponder – just live.
The most painful day came when I realised that I couldn’t remember how it was to be free. The feeling of wind against your face, running through piles of autumn leaves. Laughing. I find myself longing for something to hurt me. Pain is a virtue in a pit such as this. Grey walls, off-white ceiling. Nothing to offend me, nothing to shout at me, to belittle me. I want to feel underappreciated. I want to be taken advantage of. I want to be trodden on by the rich and the greedy. Anywhere away from this.
There’s a disease, I think I remember. Stockholm Syndrome. Falling in love with your captor. If I could find the man who’s put me in here, I’d do much more than love him. With no doors, no windows, no way out its impossible how I got in here.
But no matter how much I think, the wires are always there. Buzzing.