True Love Dries Brown

[pinstrike]

The air is quiet now like when air is quiet when something happens and the air is quiet because it needs a rest. Something happened. I did it. And I can’t go home now because grandpa will not let me eat with my dirty hands and my dirty face and will yell at me like he yells at the picture of mommy when I’m not there. And now I’m talking to the air because the air is quiet and the world isn’t and the world doesn’t listen.

It started when I snuck out of my room like grandpa doesn’t like cause he doesn’t like me being outside ever never ever. He won’t tell me why just stares at the butterflies in his room and the picture of mommy and stays inside until his skin turned white white white like paper and his eyes look like they have clouds in them so you only see white white white like his skin.
But I snuck out while grandpa was asleep and went into the woods. I like the woods. They are quiet like the air is now. Quiet and still. Cause there is a place I like to go in the woods. I feel happy when I go there. I feel something I don’t know what and I call it love but grandpa moans and moans and says you don’t know what love is you don’t know and I say I do I do I do know what love is feeling a feeling you can’t call anything else but when you don’t feel it you want to die. That’s love. And I feel love when I go in there no matter what grandpa says. No matter what grandpa says.
I love something in the woods. I feel love for it I would live for it I would die for it.
It is a wall. A big wall, like there was once a house there and all that’s left of it is the beautiful, grimy, rusty wall that stands there like a monolith all alone and waiting to be loved. Its taller than me but only by a little, it has holes but no more than me I guess. It has cobwebs and dirty things inside it and outside but no more than me I guess. We’re all dirty. Everything in the whole wide world is dirty and everybody loves each other even for the dirty things cause even if they ignore them they still have to love them. But anyway I’m in love and I don’t love a person or any person I love a wall in the middle of the woods.
And everyday I go there even if I can’t sneak out I go in my dreamies. And when I go I bring it honey and I bring it love and I bring it my smiles and I bring it sugar and sweet smelling things and wire and strings and candles and matches and all sorts of other beautiful things but I can’t bring it my heart because I don’t have one grandpa says. I bring it my happiness. Even in my dreams when I sleep in my empty room and go inside my empty self. I am happy with my love.
And one day I tell grandpa I’m in love and he says real quiet
You don’t know what love is.
And I say
Yes I do
And he turns around on his bench in his room full of dead butterflies and says
Damn boy you don’t have a damn clue what love is.
And I yell this time real loud
Yes I do yes I do! I am in love.
What do you love boy he says.
I tell him about the wall. He laughs. Then turns around real quiet. Turns and watches his dead butterflies not move at all. Like he always does always and forever.
And I left.

And when I left I left the house and went to the woods. I didn’t have anything to bring to my love. Not even my happiness cause I wasn’t happy at all and I felt like I’d never been happy. But I still felt love. Love for my pretty dead wall. Love for every part of it. Every grimy stain, every hole, every spider and worm that lived in it every rust flake. And my love was so strong I guess I didn’t realize what I was seeing until I felt the blood boil and the heart that I don’t have burst. There were men by the wall. Men my age. Taller than me maybe by a little. And they had hammers and machines and they had looks on their faces that said they were going to do something terrible.
They were going to hurt my wall.
They started to chip away and hammer away with loud loud loud machines and I could hear my love scream in pain and desperation. I screamed so loud the machines sounded like the whisper of a butterfly kiss. And the men turned their heads and my arms shot out so strong that I tore them apart before they could scream and they dropped their machines and ran away but I was moving so fast it hurt but it hurt them more. So much more. So much more it killed them. I killed them.
Because I love my wall. And no one loves anything more. I love my wall and I would live for it and kill for it. And I did. I have. I will.
I didn’t have a heart to give to my wall, so I gave it theirs. I tore them out with my hands while they were still making screaming sounds. Then I put them in the holes in the wall. Now my love isn’t empty. Now I have one. I’ll always have one cause I ate it and its in me. I bathed in their entrails and their redness, and buried my face in their remains and called it making love with my wall. Love is red. Blood is red. And Love is all over and around me.
I can’t go home now. I need to keep my love red. I’ll kill again.
Because love dries brown.

[The Big Daddy C-Master]

pinstrike said:

The air is quiet now like when air is quiet when something happens and the air is quiet because it needs a rest. Something happened. I did it. And I can’t go home now because grandpa will not let me eat with my dirty hands and my dirty face and will yell at me like he yells at the picture of mommy when I’m not there. And now I’m talking to the air because the air is quiet and the world isn’t and the world doesn’t listen.

It started when I snuck out of my room like grandpa doesn’t like cause he doesn’t like me being outside ever never ever. He won’t tell me why just stares at the butterflies in his room and the picture of mommy and stays inside until his skin turned white white white like paper and his eyes look like they have clouds in them so you only see white white white like his skin.
But I snuck out while grandpa was asleep and went into the woods. I like the woods. They are quiet like the air is now. Quiet and still. Cause there is a place I like to go in the woods. I feel happy when I go there. I feel something I don’t know what and I call it love but grandpa moans and moans and says you don’t know what love is you don’t know and I say I do I do I do know what love is feeling a feeling you can’t call anything else but when you don’t feel it you want to die. That’s love. And I feel love when I go in there no matter what grandpa says. No matter what grandpa says.
I love something in the woods. I feel love for it I would live for it I would die for it.
It is a wall. A big wall, like there was once a house there and all that’s left of it is the beautiful, grimy, rusty wall that stands there like a monolith all alone and waiting to be loved. Its taller than me but only by a little, it has holes but no more than me I guess. It has cobwebs and dirty things inside it and outside but no more than me I guess. We’re all dirty. Everything in the whole wide world is dirty and everybody loves each other even for the dirty things cause even if they ignore them they still have to love them. But anyway I’m in love and I don’t love a person or any person I love a wall in the middle of the woods.
And everyday I go there even if I can’t sneak out I go in my dreamies. And when I go I bring it honey and I bring it love and I bring it my smiles and I bring it sugar and sweet smelling things and wire and strings and candles and matches and all sorts of other beautiful things but I can’t bring it my heart because I don’t have one grandpa says. I bring it my happiness. Even in my dreams when I sleep in my empty room and go inside my empty self. I am happy with my love.
And one day I tell grandpa I’m in love and he says real quiet
You don’t know what love is.
And I say
Yes I do
And he turns around on his bench in his room full of dead butterflies and says
Damn boy you don’t have a damn clue what love is.
And I yell this time real loud
Yes I do yes I do! I am in love.
What do you love boy he says.
I tell him about the wall. He laughs. Then turns around real quiet. Turns and watches his dead butterflies not move at all. Like he always does always and forever.
And I left.

And when I left I left the house and went to the woods. I didn’t have anything to bring to my love. Not even my happiness cause I wasn’t happy at all and I felt like I’d never been happy. But I still felt love. Love for my pretty dead wall. Love for every part of it. Every grimy stain, every hole, every spider and worm that lived in it every rust flake. And my love was so strong I guess I didn’t realize what I was seeing until I felt the blood boil and the heart that I don’t have burst. There were men by the wall. Men my age. Taller than me maybe by a little. And they had hammers and machines and they had looks on their faces that said they were going to do something terrible.
They were going to hurt my wall.
They started to chip away and hammer away with loud loud loud machines and I could hear my love scream in pain and desperation. I screamed so loud the machines sounded like the whisper of a butterfly kiss. And the men turned their heads and my arms shot out so strong that I tore them apart before they could scream and they dropped their machines and ran away but I was moving so fast it hurt but it hurt them more. So much more. So much more it killed them. I killed them.
Because I love my wall. And no one loves anything more. I love my wall and I would live for it and kill for it. And I did. I have. I will.
I didn’t have a heart to give to my wall, so I gave it theirs. I tore them out with my hands while they were still making screaming sounds. Then I put them in the holes in the wall. Now my love isn’t empty. Now I have one. I’ll always have one cause I ate it and its in me. I bathed in their entrails and their redness, and buried my face in their remains and called it making love with my wall. Love is red. Blood is red. And Love is all over and around me.
I can’t go home now. I need to keep my love red. I’ll kill again.
Because love dries brown.

Is this a piece of your written prose?

[pinstrike]

Yeah. I wrote that two years ago in like tenth grade. I just found it in my old story folder. I liked it the best out of the others, which are almost total crap. It's written from the point of view of a man, perhaps in his early twenties, but who has been so repressed and sheltered and controlled that he has the communication skills of an autistic adolescent. You like? I like...

[Dja Majista]

pinstrike said:

The air is quiet now like when air is quiet when something happens and the air is quiet because it needs a rest. Something happened. I did it. And I can’t go home now because grandpa will not let me eat with my dirty hands and my dirty face and will yell at me like he yells at the picture of mommy when I’m not there. And now I’m talking to the air because the air is quiet and the world isn’t and the world doesn’t listen.

It started when I snuck out of my room like grandpa doesn’t like cause he doesn’t like me being outside ever never ever. He won’t tell me why just stares at the butterflies in his room and the picture of mommy and stays inside until his skin turned white white white like paper and his eyes look like they have clouds in them so you only see white white white like his skin.
But I snuck out while grandpa was asleep and went into the woods. I like the woods. They are quiet like the air is now. Quiet and still. Cause there is a place I like to go in the woods. I feel happy when I go there. I feel something I don’t know what and I call it love but grandpa moans and moans and says you don’t know what love is you don’t know and I say I do I do I do know what love is feeling a feeling you can’t call anything else but when you don’t feel it you want to die. That’s love. And I feel love when I go in there no matter what grandpa says. No matter what grandpa says.
I love something in the woods. I feel love for it I would live for it I would die for it.
It is a wall. A big wall, like there was once a house there and all that’s left of it is the beautiful, grimy, rusty wall that stands there like a monolith all alone and waiting to be loved. Its taller than me but only by a little, it has holes but no more than me I guess. It has cobwebs and dirty things inside it and outside but no more than me I guess. We’re all dirty. Everything in the whole wide world is dirty and everybody loves each other even for the dirty things cause even if they ignore them they still have to love them. But anyway I’m in love and I don’t love a person or any person I love a wall in the middle of the woods.
And everyday I go there even if I can’t sneak out I go in my dreamies. And when I go I bring it honey and I bring it love and I bring it my smiles and I bring it sugar and sweet smelling things and wire and strings and candles and matches and all sorts of other beautiful things but I can’t bring it my heart because I don’t have one grandpa says. I bring it my happiness. Even in my dreams when I sleep in my empty room and go inside my empty self. I am happy with my love.
And one day I tell grandpa I’m in love and he says real quiet
You don’t know what love is.
And I say
Yes I do
And he turns around on his bench in his room full of dead butterflies and says
Damn boy you don’t have a damn clue what love is.
And I yell this time real loud
Yes I do yes I do! I am in love.
What do you love boy he says.
I tell him about the wall. He laughs. Then turns around real quiet. Turns and watches his dead butterflies not move at all. Like he always does always and forever.
And I left.

And when I left I left the house and went to the woods. I didn’t have anything to bring to my love. Not even my happiness cause I wasn’t happy at all and I felt like I’d never been happy. But I still felt love. Love for my pretty dead wall. Love for every part of it. Every grimy stain, every hole, every spider and worm that lived in it every rust flake. And my love was so strong I guess I didn’t realize what I was seeing until I felt the blood boil and the heart that I don’t have burst. There were men by the wall. Men my age. Taller than me maybe by a little. And they had hammers and machines and they had looks on their faces that said they were going to do something terrible.
They were going to hurt my wall.
They started to chip away and hammer away with loud loud loud machines and I could hear my love scream in pain and desperation. I screamed so loud the machines sounded like the whisper of a butterfly kiss. And the men turned their heads and my arms shot out so strong that I tore them apart before they could scream and they dropped their machines and ran away but I was moving so fast it hurt but it hurt them more. So much more. So much more it killed them. I killed them.
Because I love my wall. And no one loves anything more. I love my wall and I would live for it and kill for it. And I did. I have. I will.
I didn’t have a heart to give to my wall, so I gave it theirs. I tore them out with my hands while they were still making screaming sounds. Then I put them in the holes in the wall. Now my love isn’t empty. Now I have one. I’ll always have one cause I ate it and its in me. I bathed in their entrails and their redness, and buried my face in their remains and called it making love with my wall. Love is red. Blood is red. And Love is all over and around me.
I can’t go home now. I need to keep my love red. I’ll kill again.
Because love dries brown.

I like it.
That dude would make a great Twisted Metal candidate. ;D

[pinstrike]

Thank you. I intend to post another story I recently wrote, entitled "The Sideshow". Please provide feedback on that one as well, if you care to read it.

[The Big Daddy C-Master]

pinstrike said:

Yeah. I wrote that two years ago in like tenth grade. I just found it in my old story folder. I liked it the best out of the others, which are almost total crap. It's written from the point of view of a man, perhaps in his early twenties, but who has been so repressed and sheltered and controlled that he has the communication skills of an autistic adolescent. You like? I like...

I like.

[The Big Daddy C-Master]

pinstrike said:

Thank you. I intend to post another story I recently wrote, entitled "The Sideshow". Please provide feedback on that one as well, if you care to read it.

I'll get into that one tomorrow morning most likely.