h2>Dating : Ode to the Nightmare
“Oh, God, how pitiful” she thought as she laid there in that viscera.
“What hope is there in this nightmare? What do I turn to when I fall into this pit of grey?” She said out-loud this time, kneeling, her knees bloodied and her hand exposed, skin dangling and blood dripping on to the burning asphalt below.
She crawled forward and took a deep breath, finding herself unable to take in the humidity, as thick as the ocean around her.
“I thought,” she began in a sort of finality, feeling herself losing tempo with consciousness, wanting desperately to give her ‘Ode to the Nightmare,’ “for a long time that I would never find myself in such a place. I thought somehow, with my riches, with my love, with my beauty and passion, that I was somehow above this place, but then, I never truly even thought of such a place, which must be indicative of my vanity. To feel so above ‘the other’ that I could not even imagine it. And yet here I kneel.”
She took a deep breath, collapsing into a ball of pathetic flesh, weeping over herself.
“But then I suppose that’s how it ought to be for my ilk. In fact, that’s how it must be. How could I imagine the nightmare before it crashes upon me, if always I had lived in its host? How could I imagine the pools of blood if I were the judge and jury? How could I imagine the tomb if I was only ever the embalmer? But I ought to be thankful, really. To be the host is to be in a tired monotony. To be the judge and jury is to be in a tired, sanitized court. To be the embalmer is to only witness the dead pass by, trapped always in that room smelling of chemicals and death. So, if it is not too selfish of me, I will thank my fate. This must be my fated epiphany, as silly as I’ve always found the idea. I only hope those I’ve sentenced won’t resent me for my role in their suffering.”