/lit/ - Literature

>>10076157
Seems sort of edgy until I read more of whatever story this is fanning out to be, but nonetheless mildly interested. Consider fleshing out this obsession in prose.
>>10076122
Gotta admit, I don't like the second person narration going on, besides that I think the "death" could be a lot more heavy handed, you build it up very nicely but the pay off is less than stellar, instead of vanishing into smoke, should he not get torn into? Eviscerated to shreds? This head honcho seems perfectly capable and the scene your setting lends itself to this image. I liked it though. Especially the unwitting drunk.

Here's mine:

I remember when I died. It was short and sweet, a lovely petal descended onto my chest, wilted, black and crisped, yet exuberant with life. We became friends, I and that petal. I sat for hours, staring into her dying purple eyes.

Sorrow did not fill my body, nor did lament, nor did the night overtake the soul. I, instead, sat in calm observance. This, with no mistake or miscalculation in the mind, was the task that life had given me. For all my time I tried to change, directly disobeying my duty. My liquid soaked the petal in maroon. Ghastly a sight was I.

Now that petal has corroded with the winds of fate. And, so have I.

I, the messenger of defeat, remain there in that field of black. I carried the flag step after step, once I had dropped it, a forever silent melody I became.

My teeth chatter brother. I feel her ship pulling in to dock. I feel brother, I feel. I damn it all, and wish it to end, but alas my breath continues. Sweet brother, leave, and take light with you.

I deserve the malaise. I may finally rest brother, the tunneling black has returned, and my birth is a long fabricated memory. I see her face, brother. You never knew me. I'm sorry brother.

I may love, but I cannot find it in my soul, for the perversions of my deeds run deep as the roots of my nerves. Reaching and clawing at the red meat, pulling and sucking each part off like fabric.

Sweet death, I taste thee. Long sleep, I despise thee. Quiet observance shall I take. Before, the end of my day shall I witness the world die and be reborn. A symphony of strings plays for me brother, shall yours do the same, some black day.