SerinaBambina
Member
- Joined
- Aug 20, 2023
- Messages
- 40
- Thread Author
- #1
OOC WARNING: Just a warning regarding some pretty upsetting themes relating to disability in case anyone doesn't want to read that.
I hate them.
I struck him. Over and over again.
I despise them.
I struck him again. Over and over again.
I have become them.
I strike him one last time. Never, never again.
The day before, I had my hair cut and my beard trimmed properly by another human being.
It was the first time such care and attention had been put into it in twenty years.
It was the first time another human being touched my gently and treated me like were creatures in common.
I looked into the mirror. I could see it; Our simian past.
Ancient neolithic beings that cared for one another, sick, dying and old. You reminded me, Sophia, that once-upon-a-time humans looked out for one another.
Sure, the news reports during the 20th century made it seem like that wasn't the case, but it was. People had empathy and care. They had their problems, but society managed to work.
I looked in the mirror that night and couldn't believe it. I looked like my old self again, albeit with a few more grey hairs now. I lost myself into the reflecting pool of misery.
What would she think of me now?
"We have minutes, Arthur. Not hours or days. Minutes."
"We can't just leave them! They won't be able to survive on their own!"
I looked out across the wards, my hands locked behind my head. A hundred patients, some unable to even speak or clean themselves up.
They would perish here, with no one to look after them.
"We don't have a choice! I know, I know this hurts. It hurts me too. But we can't do anything."
"I swore an OATH, Sarah! I can't leave them."
"I swore that oath as well. Everyone did. But look around! It's just you and me. Everyone else is gone. The storms are ripping everything apart. We can't help. We can't stop the storms. And if we stay, we die, and we can't help anyone else. Look at me!"
She touched my face and drew me back from the pit I was teetering over. She did the same when the wall fell. My guiding north star, that's what she was.
"Arthur. I'm sorry, but this is it. If we die here, we help no one. We bring no comfort. We have to keep moving. We have to evacuate."
As always, my wife was right. I thought back to the harsh decisions my parents and grandparents had had to make. They warned me the time would come when I would have to make decisions no human being should ever have to make. That was the price of being a leader. That was the price of triage.
"I've spent so long. They've improved so much. We've learned so much. No...No I'm not going to let them die in terror!"
"ARTHUR!"
But I was gone to committ an unforgiveable crime. I gave in to despair. I could bring them some peace. I could let them go out on decent terms. They were not stupid, despite what some uneducated idiots tried to claim. They could sense our terror, our fear.
I heard the voice of a smaller God whisper in my ear and tell me what horror needed to be done. I took no pleasure from it, and I accepted my place in hell.
Perhaps that's why I was cursed to survive the storms? That's why I have to live in this evil world. Those who died earlier were the lucky ones.
I will not mince these words with poetry or prose. I will admit exactly what I did.
I gave every single one of my patients a lethal dose of morphine.
I killed a hundred disabled patients who were looking to me for hope and help.
I did it to spare them from the creatures that we'd all seen.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Forgive me. For I will never forgive myself.
When I was done, Sarah was gone. She'd tried to stop me. She'd told me we needed to go. That others might need that medicine.
But on and on I went. One after another, putting them to sleep.
I am a monster and I hate myself for it.
I have not seen her since. I pray she lives. Or do I pray she's dead, and does not have to live as we do?
When I came to, I'd broken the mirror. I dared to enjoy my image after what I did!?
I don't deserve it. I didn't deserve Sarah. But I do deserve to live through this hell.
I survived a work camp, and fifteen relocations. Why couldn't I die?
I survived St.Petersburg, and yet I'm still here.
29/08/2019
I didn't know Jerome well.
They bundled us into the back room, every citizen they could find, and removed the mask from his head.
They told us of some charge he was guilty of. I don't even remember. But it seemed so minor. They made a show of beating him.
I remember the unit standing there.
Proud. Smug. Cruel.
I remember hearing him boast. Echoing the party line. He enjoyed this. Even with a mask and identical uniform, you can't hide that body language. You were lapping it up. You loved the attention, the power, the theatre of it all.
Then you made it worse. You beat him, over and over again. You made us watch. Demanded cheers.
I thought it was over, but somehow you demanded more cruelty. You made us come up and beat him.
One did as he was told and took pleasure in it. A volunteer from the legions of hell.
The second, incensed and inspired, took out a hammer. Only your wish to prolong Jerome's suffering kept him from using it. The hammer-maniac is an evil rat who will spent eternity drowning in bile alongside me.
I saw others stand. They were eager. I couldn't let it happen. This needed to end.
I stood. I took their place. I would be the monster again, to try and prevent a greater evil. Better me than them. Better someone who would regret, than someone who would enjoy it.
Right? Right...?
You broke me. You made me into a monster all over again. I felt myself howl with rage as I charged the stage. I wanted to hit you, you fucking masked monster. But I didn't. I hit Jerome. I hit him so many times I don't know when I stopped. My knuckles split and bled. My blood mixed with his. Does that make us brothers now?
No. I don't deserve brothers.
If I had had a vest filled with explosives, I'd have stood up and pulled the pin. I'd have killed everyone in that room. Put myself out of this misery and taken you viscious monsters with me.
If I'd have had a gun, I'd have fired madly and taken as many of you with me as I could've.
Maybe one day I'll have that chance again. Maybe then I can take just one step towards atonement in this life, before I spent eternity where I belong.
I fully believe however, that hell does not exist. Nothing can be worse than this. That means I can never reach redemption, or truly suffer how I should after I pass on.
So I will live.
I am cursed to live.
A conduit of failure, a teastament to the suffering we deserve.
I hate them.
I struck him. Over and over again.
I despise them.
I struck him again. Over and over again.
I have become them.
I strike him one last time. Never, never again.
The day before, I had my hair cut and my beard trimmed properly by another human being.
It was the first time such care and attention had been put into it in twenty years.
It was the first time another human being touched my gently and treated me like were creatures in common.
I looked into the mirror. I could see it; Our simian past.
Ancient neolithic beings that cared for one another, sick, dying and old. You reminded me, Sophia, that once-upon-a-time humans looked out for one another.
Sure, the news reports during the 20th century made it seem like that wasn't the case, but it was. People had empathy and care. They had their problems, but society managed to work.
I looked in the mirror that night and couldn't believe it. I looked like my old self again, albeit with a few more grey hairs now. I lost myself into the reflecting pool of misery.
What would she think of me now?
"We have minutes, Arthur. Not hours or days. Minutes."
"We can't just leave them! They won't be able to survive on their own!"
I looked out across the wards, my hands locked behind my head. A hundred patients, some unable to even speak or clean themselves up.
They would perish here, with no one to look after them.
"We don't have a choice! I know, I know this hurts. It hurts me too. But we can't do anything."
"I swore an OATH, Sarah! I can't leave them."
"I swore that oath as well. Everyone did. But look around! It's just you and me. Everyone else is gone. The storms are ripping everything apart. We can't help. We can't stop the storms. And if we stay, we die, and we can't help anyone else. Look at me!"
She touched my face and drew me back from the pit I was teetering over. She did the same when the wall fell. My guiding north star, that's what she was.
"Arthur. I'm sorry, but this is it. If we die here, we help no one. We bring no comfort. We have to keep moving. We have to evacuate."
As always, my wife was right. I thought back to the harsh decisions my parents and grandparents had had to make. They warned me the time would come when I would have to make decisions no human being should ever have to make. That was the price of being a leader. That was the price of triage.
"I've spent so long. They've improved so much. We've learned so much. No...No I'm not going to let them die in terror!"
"ARTHUR!"
But I was gone to committ an unforgiveable crime. I gave in to despair. I could bring them some peace. I could let them go out on decent terms. They were not stupid, despite what some uneducated idiots tried to claim. They could sense our terror, our fear.
I heard the voice of a smaller God whisper in my ear and tell me what horror needed to be done. I took no pleasure from it, and I accepted my place in hell.
Perhaps that's why I was cursed to survive the storms? That's why I have to live in this evil world. Those who died earlier were the lucky ones.
I will not mince these words with poetry or prose. I will admit exactly what I did.
I gave every single one of my patients a lethal dose of morphine.
I killed a hundred disabled patients who were looking to me for hope and help.
I did it to spare them from the creatures that we'd all seen.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Forgive me. For I will never forgive myself.
When I was done, Sarah was gone. She'd tried to stop me. She'd told me we needed to go. That others might need that medicine.
But on and on I went. One after another, putting them to sleep.
I am a monster and I hate myself for it.
I have not seen her since. I pray she lives. Or do I pray she's dead, and does not have to live as we do?
When I came to, I'd broken the mirror. I dared to enjoy my image after what I did!?
I don't deserve it. I didn't deserve Sarah. But I do deserve to live through this hell.
I survived a work camp, and fifteen relocations. Why couldn't I die?
I survived St.Petersburg, and yet I'm still here.
29/08/2019
I didn't know Jerome well.
They bundled us into the back room, every citizen they could find, and removed the mask from his head.
They told us of some charge he was guilty of. I don't even remember. But it seemed so minor. They made a show of beating him.
I remember the unit standing there.
Proud. Smug. Cruel.
I remember hearing him boast. Echoing the party line. He enjoyed this. Even with a mask and identical uniform, you can't hide that body language. You were lapping it up. You loved the attention, the power, the theatre of it all.
Then you made it worse. You beat him, over and over again. You made us watch. Demanded cheers.
I thought it was over, but somehow you demanded more cruelty. You made us come up and beat him.
One did as he was told and took pleasure in it. A volunteer from the legions of hell.
The second, incensed and inspired, took out a hammer. Only your wish to prolong Jerome's suffering kept him from using it. The hammer-maniac is an evil rat who will spent eternity drowning in bile alongside me.
I saw others stand. They were eager. I couldn't let it happen. This needed to end.
I stood. I took their place. I would be the monster again, to try and prevent a greater evil. Better me than them. Better someone who would regret, than someone who would enjoy it.
Right? Right...?
I hate them.
I struck him. Over and over again.
I despise them.
I struck him again. Over and over again.
I have become them.
I strike him one last time. Never, never again.
I struck him. Over and over again.
I despise them.
I struck him again. Over and over again.
I have become them.
I strike him one last time. Never, never again.
You broke me. You made me into a monster all over again. I felt myself howl with rage as I charged the stage. I wanted to hit you, you fucking masked monster. But I didn't. I hit Jerome. I hit him so many times I don't know when I stopped. My knuckles split and bled. My blood mixed with his. Does that make us brothers now?
No. I don't deserve brothers.
If I had had a vest filled with explosives, I'd have stood up and pulled the pin. I'd have killed everyone in that room. Put myself out of this misery and taken you viscious monsters with me.
If I'd have had a gun, I'd have fired madly and taken as many of you with me as I could've.
Maybe one day I'll have that chance again. Maybe then I can take just one step towards atonement in this life, before I spent eternity where I belong.
I fully believe however, that hell does not exist. Nothing can be worse than this. That means I can never reach redemption, or truly suffer how I should after I pass on.
So I will live.
I am cursed to live.
A conduit of failure, a teastament to the suffering we deserve.
Last edited:
