Cold Blood

This is a monologue, it is not an extract; but a stand alone piece in a series of monologues, dialogues and short stories I did exploring the themes of violence and incarceration.

It must be about half past six. I’ve been watching the pale shades of morning filtering through the bars, sending shadows lurching up the walls. These walls that are my cage; my suffering; my own private asylum. In the dark hours I see my life mapped out across their overcast corners. I watch it in slow motion, replaying those moments I can’t forget.

           

It’s been twelve years I’ve been in this cell now. The fire in my blood has long since turned to stone; hate’s gnarled fingers have loosened their grasp. Every year I hope madness will find me, take me far away from here. Maybe I’ll find God. Maybe, after all I’ve done, He’ll forgive me. And then what? He’ll set my soul free to fly with the angels? Perhaps these walls are weaving their spell on me already.

 

When the guard’s footsteps fall flat and heavy on the iron stair, I close my eyes. I listen to the hoots and howls of my neighbouring beasts. I close my eyes and I listen to the rabble and I think

            ‘I don’t belong here.’

I don’t belong amongst these brutes and broken men; these savages who rattle the bars of their own cage.

They fight and they bleed and they sing their songs of cruelty. I cover my ears but I still hear their rasping breath, still smell their putrid sweat.

 

With my eyes clamped shut I try and take myself away, I grab onto memories as they fleet past me but they slip by, leaving me face to face with the boy who sleeps in the ground. Just a boy whose skin I tore apart with my metal and my hate. The blood begins to simmer as I watch the lights leave his eyes once more.

 

Hotter still it boils as I remember the face of his mother. I took from her all that she was, her flesh and blood and then I stood before her and denied it. All the tears had bled from her eyes, or she wouldn’t let one fall for me.

 

Now I lie crooked on the cold floor, I close my eyes and listen. I listen to the hollow shrieks that bounce from wall to wall and I realize it’s his voice. It’s her voice. It’s my voice. When I cut out that boy’s life I cut out my own. I paved the path that led me to this endless void. I locked my own cage.

 

I do belong here, and no God will save me now.

Reviews

[The Seasonal Girl]

I don't have anything different to say than all those who have already reviewed it. You seem to be blessed with capturing reader's attention at very first go and keep them hooked until the last letter. This story was no different. The present, the past and the future all are captured marvelously. The voice and the trail of events, the hollowness of the narrator, stands out.

When I cut out that boy’s life I cut out my own - damn true! Love it

[VALENTINE]

I could say i understand it or sympathize but that would simply be a lie. However i do think your pain is is on a plain of existence that very few writers can feltham. That is all.

[Marie]

I do think this stands alone. It needs no explanation, because this man's tortures thoughts make everything clear.

[Mysticaleyeball0]

Very good description, lots of emotion and all in all I love it! And it leaves us readers wondering what the character did exactly and why they did it.

[Natalie Amidon]

The tone that you set describes the actions perfectly. I think it was a beautifully written and had several outstanding metaphors. Also, the way you said the second-to-last paragraph was astonishing and what the narrator realizes at the end was a perfect way to end the tragic tone set in the beginning.

[Layne]

This is really descriptive and has a nice feel to it. God, I love the feel to it!