the sound of bullets.

of Matt Howard

I ask myself if I am worthless or, at least worthy of anything? The demons in my circle demand a sacrifice and I cannot choose between dignity and bravery. But when the headmaster’s tongue lick my lips, I start to cry. Nobody shall cry in the circle. The whips of rumors and lies graze my skin until it bleeds and I feel numb. They ask me again–the demons. I look at them with my white eyes, lost in the forest of burning trees and crepitating branches, and surrender both my dignity and bravery for slavery. And now what I only hold is the sound of bullets through the laughter of mouths. The shrill of scream and gun replace the tick of the clock and it has become my sweet-sounding wind; my forbidden nature where I rest my bones. Sometimes too I ask myself which one can make me feel slightly worthy: the ring of a shot in my throat or the others? And I have found the answer when I pull the trigger in everyone’s head.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.


One thought on “the sound of bullets.

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