Minor Apocalypse

I'm actually kinda proud of this one, but it's something you would have to think in a slightly different way than usual(for most people anyway), and open your mind to enjoy/understand. Inspired by a new book series, I took a idea from it and twisted it so

I think I'm loosing it.

 

The looks from the woman passing by tell me that the man I was just conversing with went unseen to her, and his laughter is still ringing in my ears. I see them all the time now, here, there, at home and in my mind. I wish that was the only place I saw them though--my mind I mean. They are walking up the stairs; their footfalls ever quiet are loud in my ears like someone shouting nearby. I see them crawl up the walls-- the paint darkening and turning to dust behind them. Sometimes I'm important to them , other instances I am simply amusement.

 

Sometimes I fear this is a gift, that I am a prophet and I am meant to warn the unsuspecting--and that makes me worry more. They've gotten bolder though, and that must mean something I am sure of it. They were always there, but they were fading in and out and as paranoid as I. Now, now they are everywhere, all the time, and it's getting harder and harder to tell who goes unseen to the rest of the world. I can feel my barest instincts telling my something is coming to an end soon though, is it me, or the world?

 

Whenever I think I am insane, I simply look at the scratches and scars.

 

I wake up suddenly and inhale the coppery suffoccating--sometimes overwhelming scent of my own blood mixed with things I can never quite identify. They are becoming more frequent now. There they  are, four--or sometimes seven deep claw marks down my arms, stomach, or legs. Never my neck. Maybe it is too tempting to test their self-control? In the beginning my body would freeze and a cold temor of fear would travel up my spine--now I feel nothing. The numbers tell me that one of them at least is not even close to human-like, and I know none of them are ever me--my nails are bit down and bloody, I couldn't scratch anything. It hurts, and it burns like they have poisoned me, but it is not the violent acts towards me which send the fear pumping through my veins me the most. They heal frighteningly quickly, and when others see them i simply say that it was an animal or I had a nightmare. Oddly enough, these have become normal, and are probably the least alarming thing that is happening now. But because of the poison seeping into my pores at night sometimes I look around me at my family and friends and feel a heavy sense of isolation from them--as if I'm not truly part of those with a empty warmth in their eyes.

 

The locks and walls do not inhibit most of them at all, there is no haven for me any longer. One day, I fear one of them will simply grab my arm and tell me that they aren't going to let me go uncontrolled anymore and lock me in a cage. There is more I know about them, of this I am sure though--this secret I keep from myself is in my mind, like a person you see out of the corner of your eyes but when you look they are gone and at some point you doubt you even saw them--or perhaps the boogey man; you saw his claws and and hear him whisper promises of pain at night but when you turn your head he is gone. The terrifying thing is not that I  can't remember what I know, it's that I think I would rather wait in ignorance until the end and not fight whatever is going on. I've always hated fighting battles i know I will loose, and fate never plays by any rules I'm familiar with.

Reviews

[Chistie]

I like it!! Good Job!! What book is from!! Is it from The Host!! I don't know maybe.