Memoirs of old writing days

darker

Written in 12th Grade

GREATER

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It's bitter knowledge to know that your family name has been tainted from the start.

You strut around, head held high with power at your fingertips and condemnation on your tongue. Because you are better, above everything while everyone is below you.

Then you hear it. The first curse, the swear, the damnation of the people you are meant to rule.

You go to your parents, and the brush it off, saying it's jealousy. It doesn't sit right with you, but you settle with it. Let it simmer in the pot of questions until it boils over.

Then you find the pictures, the documents, hidden away in a locked room that's meant to hide every disgusting thing your family has ever done.

The hatred, anger, and betrayal flood your veins as you storm to your parents and scream what this was, only to be scolded about going through their belongings.

Greatness was bitter on your tongue.

You fight your parents at every turn — screaming until tantrums don't work anymore, until groundings mean nothing, until your parents catch you burning everything perfect in their house with hate in your eyes, a sweet smile like poisons, speaking sharply like knives, spurning ceaselessly was spite.

It goes on until you're cast out, a sting on your cheek, a tightness in your chest, and a boil in your stomach. The name is still there, standing strong even though others can now see the darkness through the polish.

You fight; fight to free the name that you had worshipped and thanked every night before you went to bed. You fight to bring it down, to send it crumbling and collapsing from its own rotten core. You fight because your spiteful and angry and betrayed and you want the people who caused the suffering of others to pay.

You lock yourself in and endless battle with your family, against the tarnished greatness that tastes bitter on your tongue until your righteousness incarnate, untouchable, immovable, unbreakable.

REAPER

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Death glided across the globe, while the world slept; a gentle, bony hand shining in the moonlight as it held its scythe.

Black robes, flowed, and dark eyes showed sympathy and remorse as Death lifted her arms; the weapon rose.

She sliced down on the sleeping soul, the cursed blade passing through the physical form.

With a start, the man jerked awake and stared and Death's face. She held out her hand and said it was time

And all the while, the world slept.

DECEPTION

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