Hospital For Souls

Scorpion mindset

**Not a poem, obviously. Still I felt this short story would fit well in this book. Hope you agree**

Our sense of smell is one of the sharpest, most efficient tools for remembering. We connect these scents to the similar (in extreme cases, exact) odors that we've smelled in the pass. Hence, when the semi-fresh gust of wind blew in from the window I sat next to, the familiar need to kill filled me once again. The trees, bristling in the wind acted almost as an IV of ecstasy. I shut my eyes, letting my back sink into the chair. The teacher continued rambling on about graphing intervals and so, with great attempt, I tried to block her out. I tapped my fingers against the desk slowly. Making an awfully familiar beat. A beat of 2 strikes.... Then another 2 strikes... Then another. Consecutively all at the same time. My memory was rather foggy. Certainly I wanted to kill, but did I claim to have a right to? Well of course not. Nor do I believe anyone should pity me for this. I'm cowardly for taking this route, and I understand that. I do not wish to fight it any longer. On a similar note, I believe that every want that has been in our past continues to follow us, and so is present in our future. All we need is a bit of motivation after we recall it. You can say that you remember, and so I think we remember how we feel or the exterior of the situation. Never both. Sometimes neither. This time, all I had were my personal feelings at the time. Feeling the want to kill. Wanting to take the route of flight instead of fight. Ironic? Not for long. So when it came to a point where I was convinced taking a life was the only salvation of saving my own, I did come to my senses and noted that I was rather at my breaking point. And for once in my life, I did not want to go back. As soon as the crack of the ringing bell filled the air, I practically sprinted for the door. Shoving myself through each crevice of the crowd of bodies. Taking a sharp tun left at the near end of the hall, I threw the heavy metal doors open and staggered out into the court yard. I took cover behind a narrow corridor and fell to my knees. It was there where I then felt the rain fall down upon me, and heard the muffled cursing of a group of guys rather my age. A few warm drops ran down my face, and it took me awhile before I realized they were my own tears. Pathetic, really. For one of many unknown reasons, I lifted myself up and walked toward the group of guys. Lurching my arm back, I threw a closed fist at one boy. One whom happened to be muscular as well as tall. Once my fist collided with his face, the sound of high pitched screech filled the air. His friends stared at me for almost a full minute, then tackled me to the ground. I stayed silent as they kicked me in the gut. With such immense force I believe I heard the crack of my ribs. I then picked myself up, with a single tear running down my cheek. I saw one boy out of the three, lift his head and marvel at me... I knew he had known. He knew there was something there. Something in me. That I didn't want to fight... I wanted to be fought. I know I recognized now what I was missing in my memory... The feeling of pity. What I thought I didn't deserve. Which is ironically the only thing I did. The boy I punched, pushed me, sending me to fumble backward. I tripped on what seemed to be a root, and collapsed. As my head made sudden contact with the concrete, I was filled with this excruciating pain. God, it was nothing I have ever felt. Only for a split second, but it was the caving of the back of my skull. Even more so the slow imbedding of the fragments of bone into my brain. It was only a second though, that I felt this. Then I began to float out, as if a heavy fog enveloped my mind. It was now that I stopped hearing that oh so familiar beat. The beat I was rapping, tapping earlier on the desk. That of my heart. Though my emotions were scattered. Unclear, really. I felt myself smile. I was sad. Confused. But I smiled. After many years of want, I finally killed the person Id long to take away. Myself.