Can You See What I See
by
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Under stress was an understatement. Sweating turned into chills. I realized that I was fragile, different from the boys.
An issue of mayhem to the nerves, like a fish out of water. An undertow within me, predication of a typhoon.
I could feel numbness taking over my mind, giving off a useless sense of shock, sending my joints into a lock, with the key being drilling pain.
I hear sounds behind me of popping, crackling, and a moan of something else, a moan of satisfaction. It's trying to get its prey, and I showed injury.
The brewing of mental torture; infusion of agony with a invisible blindfold. The brew continues to condensing as it moved closer to my sciatic nerves.
Sleep was my enemy. I would fight to the death end. If so, be it.
The freedom of expression had a pulse moving in and out, enhancing of individuality, an art trade gone wrong, a dirty needle. Allergic reaction to the ink or care instructions were ignored.
The sound hitting my ear drum, a rhythm of beastie breaths coming in without a welcome, intruding in my personal space, and didn't leave until stirring a hectic commotion,
A monkey with most of its face inside a bowl. An eye glaring out the bowl looking to be seen.
…sprung from nerve to nerve, landing like a sledge hammer.
As she tucked herself back into the shadow in the wall, I hear an eerie voice say, “In due time,” as if it was the voice…
Panic was still in the air, coming in for a few seconds. Inhale. Returning back out. Exhale. Making rumors in my body.
Anxiety was the fighter, changing scary shakes to stabbing chills; falling tears now dried up madness.
This training came deep within. Pain was here, and acceptance of that fact. Training for the fight of a fierce caliber, floods of emotions, my state of existence, and triumph over infliction. The training had a purpose, a mission. This would make it official. A title I would hold: experience.
Vision became blurred. Couldn't blink. A mist filled my breathing tube, lungs catching the evaporation, mist of strangulation sending out a rash of psychoticness.
A drunken influence of gluttony, suffering with pleasure, for years until a machine..
The girl hands off the mouth, a space of smoothness. No opening. The mouth had vanished,
She smirked every time before cold words rolled off her tongue, laughter to the words of discouragement perceived by a foolish logic.
A gift? A privilege peek?” I thought..
I was in the presence of both good and evil.
Trickery of dissipation at my front door, close with impatience.
Delusions of the association, was the cramping. I saw further, an internal bleeding with stabs, burns, and squeezing with no release. My heart was pumping death.
Her goal was to get a simpleminded follower, and make them invincible.
“The first chapter of my first memory was fear.”
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About the Book
This is what I see exaggerated. That is why this is fiction!
With me a new twist of the conscious. We think but never speak about the sensitive side. Place in metaphors and statements, presenting reality and a bonus of fiction. Welcome to my sighting, vision, and exaggeration of what could be true.
Become my eyes, as you focus on the words. Now can you see what I see? Twisting scenes, transferring thoughts to an emotion, touching the unseen, holding hands with fear, realizing it's truth to an open opinion.
This is why I felt compelled to tell the story. A plan from deep within set a sail for my new adventures of what I see, and what I think I see, and to learn the difference.
Taught speak no evil, see no evil, hear no evil, so I wrote it instead. These rules were never clarified outside the main ingredients.
So telling the story this way makes it easier for my conscience, releasing a poison that was slowly trying to kill a humble soul. Sins and unwanted memories can be at peace, through the conclusion of a fictional story. Or is it?
My gift of a fictional horror with an inspirational meaning.
Read my exaggeration, and form your opinion of a book called “Can You See What I See?”
I'm not a big fan of gambling, but I bet a pocket full of coins that this book is different, heads or tails.
P.S. Remember three is a charm. Two more will follow.
About the Author
My son explained me in a nut shell. My son once told me I have two personalities, but it doesn't make me bipolar. The personalities he says I have are Sweet and the other Crazy, which he says makes me unknown.
I want to explain ME, not by my background that we can put on paper and prove years from now, like mother, father, children, criminal record, or even all the places I've lived, and even how I lived (with credit card receipt), even as far as to know what you eat.
To explain ME is to feel a vision of how I felt at a particular time, if it be dancing, crying, singing, rejoicing, or just mellow.
To feel me at that moment is a little start of knowing ME!
Another thing about me, EYES, one of GOD's many blessings that I have. With my eyes, I can see things that you wouldn't think about, but it's always there. The eyes you can see the mood, health, and personality of the person.
Through the eyes of a person, it's true, BUT it also depends on your heart, too. I was taught to observe first, and learning of the eyes came later.
I have a secret that I'm going to reveal to my readers.
For over half of my lifespan, I didn't like to be looked in the eyes too long. I didn't want a soul to know how I felt. I became my worst enemy.
I hid my inner feelings, turning my emotions into TEARS of a CLOWN instead of SCREAMS of a BEAST.
Now, I have told you something deep about myself. This is to show my appreciation to you for reading my book. An ocean full of thanks!