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"Thoughts of demons, dreams of angels"

"Monkey features! Oi!"

The children swarmed around the one child that knew of any romance, the one child that knew of any power, the one child that could stand tall above them all, and in a graceful step, today, that child would fall too far.

For he was calmed. Not a single sight nor sound entered his mind and affected him. Static from the world causing his mind to stay utterly relaxed with what he felt he needed to do.

For five boys circled around the single boy that stood, and he let himself be pushed, from side to side... his bag thrown in the air, and the boy fell to the floor.

Not a tear. Not a sound. He just let them do it.

And the boys became intrigued. Where had their fear gone? What has become of their power?

The boy stood up from the floor, and reached into his pocket. He withdrew a knife.

The boys took a step back... it wasn't the knife that scared them, but the fact they knew the boy could use it... they knew this boy could slash open their throats without a seconds thought. And only then do they fully realise of true fear...

But they were wrong. For they had not yet known true fear, until the boy began to talk.

"You... you have all judged me. You have taken your lives, and watched, and scarred me for your own purpose. For what power?"

The boys remained silent, bar one, who kept smiling through teary eyes. He tried to laugh, but was uninspired by the fellow boys who said nothing, and made no such indication that this was at all funny.

"How do you know me? How on earth can you judge me? How on earth can you wait on hand and limb for your fears? Can you not see how utterly insignificant you are? Can't you see that I remain the same?"

The boys watched the child in the centre, holding the knife gently between his fingers.

"For what should I care for when I come in, I am bullied by you?" The boy turned around the circle, facing each one of them and looking them straight in the eyes. "What fear would I gain from you? Do you think I have not seen fear? Do you think you could possibly scare me more than I have seen, how on earth could you scare me?"

One of the boys swallowed.

"Here. You want to know me? You want to know my fear? Would you like to understand how much I feel, how much pain I feel? Here."

The boy flipped open the knife, and slashed the top of his left hand. The skin flew off him and landed on the floor, and blood began to ooze from him.

"This is fear!" The boy said, through tears. "This is fear! This is hatred, this is power!"

The boy gripped the knife tightly and slit his wrist wide, blood pouring from his arm. Tears screamed from his eyes as he shouted at the boys.

"THIS IS FEAR! THIS IS WHAT I GO THROUGH!" The boy screamed, his voice screeching through the whole playground... He gripped the knife tighter and slashed more skin from his arm. His clean white school shirt growing a darkened red, the blood dripping down his arm and onto his body. A pool of blood began to soak through his black trainers.

"Understand however, that this is me. This is who I am, and this is how I shall die, in front of your eyes, in front of your childhood. May you always live in fear."

The boy, surrounded by his bullies, gripped the knife tight, and slashed his throat open.

The boys started shaking, crying with absolute fear. Teachers ran across the playground, and the boy threw the knife to the ground and collapsed in a pool of his own blood, marytred to destroy the lives of those who had hardly even affected his own.

The real people who had affected him? The ones he couldn't turn to. The ones he was afraid to trust. The ones that would never have time for him, would never encourage him to speak his mind, his thoughts, his loves, his hates, his fears.

The bullies did not kill this child.

For no man can judge without fear. And those with fear judge far too harshly.

For we fear what we may not understand. We grow angry at those things that seem to have no reason, but in fact they do. Reasons that perhaps we could help ourselves.

There is always more to life than power. There is always more to life than comfort. For we live in a world where anger is passed from one man to another, without thought, without one second to understand why, or where it may have arose.

Because within a week, the child's mother was found dead, hanging herself from the same post that once held her son's sixth birthday party balloons. And within two weeks, the father had hunted down and shot dead all five children who were present around his son that day.

And it eventually drove him to despair. And he eventually killed himself, screaming in front of a mirror, refusing to believe his own reflection, refusing to believe he was the man he was.

Now tell me again...

What if this boy, perhaps, allowed himself to escape, allowed himself to release all the emotion he carried with himself through writing? Perhaps writing poetry on a public forum?

Because of course, we cannot judge until we know true fear.

Be careful what you say.

Deep. But not nice.

But provoking.

:)

Heh, wow, thanks.

Wow.

That is a really deep piece right there.

Great work, Grix

The only thing I had before I started writing this was the dad who killed the bullies of his child... I wasn't even going to write that when I started. It was to go in the prequel to Seven that I'm never going to write... this is the prequel, and this is all it will be.

I wasn't even sure what I was going to write when I started. I tend to let it just come out.

Excellent.

A thought you've had some time ago, and developed now, or one that's entirely new?

Very good. Almost very good.

Hmmmm...

XYU ripples for me then.

(Very heavy/nasty Pumpkins track)

'A lot' being an enormous understatement.

Enormous.

:)

I think a lot. :0)

Thats amazing.

The parts i liked the most were when he slahesed himslef and shouted

"This is fear!" The boy said, through tears. "This is fear! This is hatred, this is power!"

"THIS IS FEAR! THIS IS WHAT I GO THROUGH!"

what was your insperation?