My muse nosleep

My muse I´m stuck in my chair. I’m not particularly overweight or anything like that, it just won´t let me up. It whispers in my ear in words I can’t understand, it is a language of violent screams, of deep silences similar to those you’ll find in a cemetery and a language that seems to come from the deepest pits of earth. I feel his claw in my shoulder, I can’t muster the courage to look at it, I’m sure my heart would stop. I need to go to the bathroom, both because I have an urgent feeling in my bowels and also, a few minutes alone would give me the chance to find a way to escape. But I know it will insist in coming with me. It will stare while I take a thirty minutes nervous shit. It will smile, and make me feel like the worm that I am. It keeps speaking, his foul breath smells of rotten corpses, of sewage and hatred. Yes, hatred. Until now I never realized hatred had a smell. I don’t think anyone would have a problem with the statement that love has a smell, some might say it is recently cut flowers, others, dark chocolate, or maybe, the sweat of a particular lover. Hatred has a smell too. It’s gun powder and blood and the ice cold blade of a razorblade. It is fire burning a pile of innocent corpses. But I can’t turn my head away or cover my nose, it is very easy to anger, and if it realizes I despise it, it will tear me apart. As it did with my family. My son’s head lies next to my feet, I can see his dead eyes, one rolled upwards, the other staring directly at me. My wife ripped in two, her legs are in the main entrance, and her torso flew towards the refrigerator. I saw it do it when she kindly opened the door, its strength is inhumane, can anyone fault me because I didn´t try to fight it? I’m just a useless writer. It keeps talking, and I have to keep writing, it seems pretty upset. It’s becoming harder and harder, words are slipping away from my mind. It’s the tension, I can’t write under tension. God! Why it won’t shut up. My cellphone is right under the keyboard, if it just, for a second, turned away, I might be able to call the police, or maybe the army, I don´t think the men in blue are going to be able to do anything against it. Its words are a prophecy of fire and brimstone, its words are going to eat the world away. The room is beginning to heat up, as if we were in a sauna. It speaks faster. And then the sky and the earth will crack open and thunder and fire and destruction and my brother and sister will return to their fateful kingdom. Humankind will return to its proper place beneath the feet of their creators. They will serve us as cattle and we will eat their meat at every meal. God, my fingers won´t stop, I don’t want to continue. I can’t stop. Writers write.

Submitted March 28, 2016 at 01:33AM by Alecal89 http://ift.tt/1Pz1Pdm nosleep