Author Topic: Untitled #9  (Read 912 times)


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Untitled #9
« on: November 05, 2009, 05:42:13 pm »

You took our heart, left us to die in the snow and we heard your voice form inside the kitchen, to toughen up them youngsters some and we did ma, we learned our lesson that night in the snow with our faces towards the living room where the wood wasn't freezing but not warm neither, we learned what you had to tell us ma, we toughened up far beyond your dreams, we'd not freeze no more on the farm, we'd not be cold no more for you killed something inside us that night. We learned your ways ma and we ignored the ways you tried to teach us, we were observant and watched you instead, we saw the routines, we saw what was needed and we grew older and there was nothing keeping us together, us siblings but our hate for you and that was perhaps the most valuable lesson you gave us, you taught us how the world works and we grew older and more understanding, still lingering in what you thought were your skirts. We killed you when the youngest turned seventeen, when we would be able to work the farm, we cut you up and gave most of you to the pigs but we collected your bones and we made you anew in the woods, a small clearing they said witches used back in the dark ages when the light of godhood had not entered every man and womans psyche. When reason was not the prevailing emotion set into the world we built you with sticks and stones to support your bones and we made it so you should stand for years, we made it so that one day when we'd all grown old, they'd come for us. No son nor daughter will ever want to deny killing their mother.


We saw you seldomly and the only thing we saw in you were your chin, nose and patience. We inherited this from you and we saw nothing else from you, silent man, little man. Standing forever in the shadow of those stronger than you, you took no hand in our upbringing because you didn't care. We were nothing to you and we've never been, the only emotion we saw from you was when you came home with your suitcases filled with shoes, travelling as you were we took you to the shrine where our mother stood, it had been months since we erected her and the forest had done hers to make sure she was being reclaimed and you looked upon us and said did you really do this? and we said yeah and your eyes sparkled from a different light, from a different life and the youngest hit you over the head with a shovel. We propped you up next to ma in the glade we would never refer to and we cut out your tongue and we cut off your balls for you never had them in our life, we never saw these parts of you and we sat around until you died. We listened to your guttural shrieks of agony, we were better than you, we stayed with you out in the cold before you collapsed, we left you at that.

Brothers and Sisters

We worked endlessly on the farm, we made it right again, the way it had been when our forefathers had run it, we still delievered the most beautiful prime, none of us older than twenty, we made this place the way it was supposed to, like the brothers and sisters we were, lost inside the deepest of woods, keeping up relations of the outside world with mr. marrow, the purveyor. We loved each other and we thought we'd done something right, we thought this was what we'd done, we thought this was what we were supposed to do but as we grew older, so did our minds, we came to the peace we thought we'd landed earlier in our lives and we grew older, eventually beginning to walk out to the glade in silence, each and one of us not hoping the others notices but we were a hive mind, one unit comprised of different individuals and as we grew older, nature caught up with us and we did the horrible deeds that no parent ever told us not to. We grew even older, we came to the stage where we wanted to find the meaning of life, we wanted to find our purpose but we found nothing and we did not know where to seek and more often we found ourselves in the glade, watching both of you, silently.
Everyone will always be too late

The Good Reverend Roger

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Re: Untitled #9
« Reply #1 on: November 05, 2009, 05:45:39 pm »
Dang!  Sepia is on a roll!

Please to return to old avatar, though.
" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."
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Mesozoic Mister Nigel

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Re: Untitled #9
« Reply #2 on: November 06, 2009, 12:06:25 am »
“I’m guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk,” Charles Wick said. “It was very complicated.”